


Two Week Affair

by OhWowAltMal



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, M/M, Minor Violence, Possible Character Death, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-06 13:06:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 71,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4222800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhWowAltMal/pseuds/OhWowAltMal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maliks life as a taxi cab driver is about as exciting as a wet stick. luckily-or unluckily- for him, he picks up Altair, a hired contract killer who then proceeds to dump a body on his car. In in return, Altair gets to drag Malik along for the rest of his contracts. Fun times for everyone.<br/>(Based off the 2004 movie 'collateral' because im utterly unoriginal)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. always tip the taxi driver.

He supposed it all started with a lucky blue tie and a phone call.

A phone call placed by his insolent, pig-headed, smart-mouthed little brother Kadar, a man younger only by five years but seemed to still have the cheek and devil-may-care attitude of a teen, while simultaneously racing up the corporate ladder and leaving his older peers in the dust. A man who, although only twenty three, was already earning more money in a month than Malik did in a year.

The injustice of it continued, as always, to make him ground his teeth in silent but not hidden rage and deepen the scowl that had taken a permanent position on his face. Of course, he should be proud of Kadar and all his achievements, considering what Malik had been doing when he was twenty three. And what had that earnt him? A job as a taxi cab driver, with no end of the living hell in sight. Meanwhile, Kadar was making the big bucks in the courtroom, winning case by case until guilty men and women were practically on their knees and begging for his aid. Kadar had once even boasted after a night of drinking that a man had offered to suck his cock in exchange for his legal help, so desperate he had been.

Malik had a hard time believing that particular offer. His pride forbid it.

Kadar had, of course, offered to help him financially-“I could put in a good word somewhere, you know. Could help you land a better job than carting around drunkards in the early hours”-but this was another thing Malik’s pride had forbid. _He_ was his own man, and _he_ could manage himself and his wallet perfectly fine.

This was not the argument he used during the phone call that lasted exactly two minutes, and predictably it did not end in his favour.

“I can’t afford to taxi you around whenever you like, Kadar. When I taxi you around, I have to pay for it, out of my own pocket. Do you have any idea how much I earn? Barley enough to live on without me carting you around for free.”

“I promise, ill pay you this time! All I need is for you to take me to my apartment, then the airport. I promise that once I get back-“

“You promised that last time, or do I have to remind you? You owe me thirty bucks, and that’s been outstanding for over a month.”

A slight pause. When sound returned, Kadar’s voice had raised an octave. “I have cash in my apartment. If you give me a ride now, I can pay you back the thirty bucks and give you the rest of the money when I get back from Australia. Please, Malik? You now how important this is. Be merciful for once in your life.”

Another pause, a longer pause, this time from Malik.

_(a pause of consideration rather than in frustration. )_

“Ill be there in ten minutes. And you had better pay me back, or this is the last time im ferrying you around.”

_( lie )_

A sigh of relief from Kadar. “Oh, thank God. I was really starting to think-“

Malik hung up the phone before he had a chance to finish, fingers angrily stabbing at the button to end the call before he could listen to any more of Kadar’s over-honeyed gratitude. Sometimes he was sick of just how well that kid worked with words.

Malik kicked off the wall he was leaning on, sliding the phone back into the pockets of his jacket and stepping back into the dwindling heat of the day. Late afternoon, the sun still strong enough to give the tourists on the beach sunburn but not quite enough to make wearing jeans uncomfortable. A Sunday. The day of church, the day of giving, the day of forgiveness. Malik never found the time nor interest to ever visit the House of God; while he would admit the building itself was impressive-it sat just across from him now, white marble gleaming softly, welcomingly in the sunlight and yet so cold and unforgiving to the touch with an ever constant flow of nuns, families, and homeless folk streaming in through its doors- it was more the ideals, endless sermons, the people who used religion as an excuse for their acts that drove him from the arms of Christianity or any other religion.

Yet curiously enough it was the concept of God, of religion, that lingered on his mind as he stepped off the curb and climbed into his cab. Perhaps it was the inane boredom that racked him through the day that clutched to that train of thought, desperate for any form of entertainment to drive away the creeping insanity. Or possibly it was the way the church stood that Sunday morning, imposing, glaring, shadows slowly creeping down its face like a furrowed brow, almost as if in warning or insult. But soon the radio cut through the pious thoughts and provided him with a new and much more comforting train of distractions; his fingers fumbled to change the channel from the current one that was blaring some new pop hit, undoubtedly sung by a young and ‘dashing’ rockstar that was drunk on money and fame, the hit that would eventually become the singers theme tune to his own spiral downwards as he gets done for drugs and DUI in a few years.

The afternoon sun was soon bright and glaring through the car windows as he drove and cleared his head from any negative thoughts-and there were plenty of them. The Sunday was a typical Sunday, a lazy Sunday, if you could call any Sunday in the city lazy. In the suburbs, women would be sitting in their Sunday best on their pristine white porches, tittering about how silly their husbands were while their children played Cops and Robbers barefoot in the backyard with the dog. Teens would be riding bikes up and down the street, hollering dirty innuendos to each other that only their generation could laugh at. Grandmothers and fathers would be sleeping in the old rocker chair that sat just off the side of the back porch with knitting or a magazine held loosely in hand. The Sunday in the city, this city, was almost the polar opposite.

The sun provided an excellent opportunity for the street artists; Malik drove past many a plaza packed to the brim with people admiring the chalk sketches that spanned the bricks, and hundreds of new graffiti tags would undoubtedly don the walls of buildings by nightfall. Girls walking the streets in skimpy clothing, eyeing the men without shirts that were returning from the beach or gym with the men doing likewise. The scent of stale croissants and poorly made espressos that weaved its way through the crowds and drifted in through his open window left a pleasant but not entirely welcome imprint on the whole city, luring customers and adding to the ‘beach side city’ vibe that oh too often drew the tourists here, hoping to show off their seaside body, get laid, and relax. Cars, aside from taxis (like his own) and buses were a rare sight; roller skaters and skate boarders often took up the space on the road in their board shorts, tank tops, backwards caps, and cheap sunglasses. Music blared from apartment windows and cafes alike, the mixture of blues and rock and roll pounding the pavement and sending vibrations through his cab as he drove.

Malik loved the city. It was so vibrant, so colourful, so confusing and muddled and yet so at peace. The city was small, the population too big for its home-but you could live here forever and still discover new nooks and crannies. Take a wrong left here or there and you could find yourself in a completely new and foreign world; with street lamps and gravel replaced in a heartbeat by colourful paper lanterns and hand painted patterns on bricks that would make your head dizzy, new sights and smells and sounds assaulting your senses as you stumble through only to find yourself back onto the gravel and streetlamps that had once seemed homely now seem boring, bland, lifeless. He took a right on the road and left the apartment block with its internet cafes and splashes of paint here and there, murals sprouting up like flowers, and entered the political side of the city with its tall and grand buildings that glared down upon him, all grey and white just like the minds and thoughts of the people who work and live here.

The city was _alive,_ the whole place pulsed and beat and breathed like a living animal. And Malik loved it. It was one of the few things he loved in this world.

The business and political part of the city that Malik found himself in was, while not as exuberant as the others, still bustling with activity, but this was a different form of life. This part of the city held all of the parliamentary buildings-the courthouse, the woman’s prison, lawyer firms sprouting here and there like weeds- and thus the minds and thoughts and lives of the people that lived and worked here were grey, slow, and empty. You saw it in their faces; not a shred of emotion or colour, just a woeful blankness or sadness as if marble statues in a museum had sprung to life and started to walk the streets with suits and fading hair. They walked with their heads and hearts heavy with bodies made of lead and thoughts of air. No dreams came true here, if they were ever lucky enough to be conceived. The buildings made him feel like he had gone back in time; tall and imposing, all cold white stone and marble pillars, polished granite stairs leading to metal doors and barred windows that shut off the outside and sneered at him as he drove past. Even the air had gained a greyish tint, the sky now seeming desolate and lonely when minutes before it was clear and the sun had shone with a smile.

Malik hated this place. He didn’t know how Kadar could bear to stand it.

_( But it wasn’t the place that he hated, its inhabitants, the way the buildings made him fear; what he hated was that Kadar could end up like the others who worked and lived here. His fear was irrational, silly, a child’s fear almost, but it was still there, niggling at the back of his mind, whispering and feeding his fear before he has a chance to crush it. He was afraid that Kadar would become like them, one of them; a mindless creature, devoid of all colour, emotion, love and hopes and dreams- he was afraid of losing his brother to his work. That was what, he told himself, kept his fear rational. He didn’t want his brother to become a workaholic. That was what he told himself, though it was only part of the truth. )_

The courthouse was suddenly looming, a familiar figure standing halfway up the grandiose stars clutching a briefcase and waving with an over-enthusiastic and almost cheesy grin. Match that with the loose tie, the ruffled hair, the blue eyes and chubby baby cheeks- you wouldn’t think Kadar of a lawyer at all. He had more the look of a dishevelled door salesman who had just made the sale of a lifetime. Kadar knew about his look, had learnt to embrace it, accept it; it apparently came in handy during high level court cases. He said it ‘gave him the look of an amateur, and therefor gives me an advantage. I love the look on their faces when I completely _wreck_ their case. Its absolutely priceless.’

Malik still hadn’t decided whether Door Salesman Kadar sold vacuum cleaners or life insurance. He was leaning towards the life insurance.

Kadar was already stumbling his way down the steps when Malik pulled up to the curb. He gave a small honk on the horn, to irritate Kadar he would say, but truthfully it was to see the look of surprise on the politicians faces as they turned towards the sound. Surprise was one of the few emotions that ever showed on their usual empty faces- the others known to him being sadness and envy. Envy was ugly, twisted their features into something hideous, and sadness was just pitiful so Malik usually didn’t try to invoke them, but it was one of the few pleasures he gets out of coming into this district and right now he would take what he would get.

“You just _had_ to honk the horn, didn’t you? Do you get off on humiliating me?” The back door wrenched open with such a force the whole car tipped slightly to one side, and Kadars briefcase was thrown into the back before the door was slammed closed again. The same bone-jarring yank from the front door and Kadar threw himself into the cab. The brief rush of air from the outside was cold and stung his lungs, and he reached to turn the central heating on. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, shadows growing darker and longer.  
“Do you really want me to answer your question? Or are you going to apologise before I kick you out of this car and make you walk home?” Malik had played the trump card. The vengeful look that had broken out on Kadar’s face was, in a blink, replaced with one of almost deathly terror. _( fake, of course. )_ “Hey, look, I’m sorry, okay? Just, don’t do that again, please? Its bad enough as it is being the youngest here, and having my brother pick me up isn’t improving my rep.”

Malik gave a snort as he pulled out of the curb. “Not improving your reputation? What reputation?” The quip earned him a jap in the ribs, but he could see a slow smile crack onto Kadars face. “Oh, just the reputation of me being possibly the most ass-kicking lawyer in the city. I might even work as an MP one day. Maybe lower a few taxes here and there. The public will love me.” Said with a wink, the smile broad and bright now.

“The Public may, but the rest of the government won’t. You’ll be out within a month.”

“They can’t stop me.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Takes one to know one.” Another wink, then it was Kadar’s turn for an elbow to the ribs. The air conditioning was working quickly now, hot air blasting on Malik’s knees and burning his face. Outside, he turned back into the apartment block, the streets quieter as the sun went down and the air turned frigid and turned the breath of whoever was still out there-clubbers, couples on dates, lost tourists- into a gust of mist that billowed out from their hands, pressed against their mouths to keep them warm.  
That was another thing Malik loved about the city; the nights that arrive quickly, silently, unexpectedly, bringing cold air and winds to toss about long hair and numb fingers, winds to tease and trick and dance with the leaves that had dropped to the ground to show the first signs of autumn. The winds that blew away the clouds to reveal the stars, winds that made music in the chimes and powered the sailboats in the harbour, winds to churn the waves and spiral a pattern in the sand. Malik loved the nights in the city, loved the hot and lazy afternoons, loved the sunsets that took an age to die, loved his brother sitting beside him who was tapping away a tuneless beat on his leg with a pen, a bundle of nerves.

“Remind me again exactly why you have to fly all the way to Australia? I thought your court case was taking place here.” At this, Kadar sighed, a sigh well practised and used many a time. “It _is_ taking place here.” He sat up straighter and with a frown quickly replacing his grin, a hint a contempt hidden well in the folds of his voice. “Problem is, while my oppositions client did commit his major crimes here and will take his trial here, he had been caught and taken into custody in Aussie.” Hands making small deft movements, as if speaking to a crowd. Malik stifled a grin. “ Therefore, because the client has also committed crimes in Australia, he’ll face another trial there, too. It’s a ridiculous policy.”

“Must have broken some pretty serious laws.”

“He’s going down for murder, attempted murder, petty theft, resisting arrest, kidnapping and trespassing. So, yes, he has broken some pretty serious laws.” The grin was back again. “ Makes it a cakewalk for me, though. I’ve got all the evidence I need just from one of his crimes, and the rest is just a stroll in the park.”

Malik let out a low whistle. “Almost makes It worth it going to Australia, I’m assuming.”

“Going to another country for two weeks on a court case where I don’t have to do anything, and still get paid for it? Most definitely.” This caused maliks brow to furrow deeper. “ Two weeks? I thought it was four.”

“One of the witnesses got himself killed, so they had to cut down to half the time.”

A small alarm bell went off in the corner of Maliks mind, a bell quickly smothered and forgotten, shoved aside because the very reason it was going off was ridiuclous. “ How’d he manage that? Someone with enough cash to hire a contract killer?”

“Not as exciting as that, unfortanutely. Unless this contract killer pushed him in front of the car he got run over by.”

“Its not unlikely. Watch yourself over there.”

“You worry too much.”

He pursed his lips. “I like to think I worry enough.”

 

The ‘lucky’ blue tie turned out to be quite lucky after all.

It became evident the moment they walked into Kadar’s flat that he hadn’t the time nor thought to pack his bags for the trip. This resulted in a very rushed twenty minute bag packing session, consisting mainly of very near punches, a lot of confused and angry shouting, and an incredibly long list of curses from Kadar that even Malik was impressed with. The lucky tie itself was found, after ten minutes of searching-“You have four ties already Kadar, why the fuck do you need another??” “Its my _lucky_ blue tie! _”_ as if that explained anything-behind the couch and underneath four ‘Woman’s choice’ magazines. Malik didn’t have the time nor the patience to question his brothers magazine choice, but took Kadar’s weak excuse of ‘I like the recipes in them’ well enough. This twenty minute delay ended in a very erratic drive to the hospital-in which Malik is positive he broke the speed limit at least twice-, Malik dropping and losing his phone somewhere on the way back to his car which was just _fan fucking tastic,_ and Kadar being late for his flight.

The luck of the blue tie still held strong, however, because Kadar managed to make it in time and push out a hurried ‘goodbye’ before sprinting for the terminal, waving his ticket in the air like a madman. Malik barely had time to acknowledge his farewell before his brother swept through the gates and was gone.

That was how he found himself sitting on a barstool in the airport café, munching a chicken burrito that tasted more like cardboard and sad, wet, limp lettuce, wishing he was anywhere but here. Airports always made him feel so tiny and insignificant, always reminded him exactly what he wasn’t doing with his life, always made him feel like a spectator to a movie about how great everyone else was doing except him. How everyone seemed to be happy except for him.

Suddenly desperate for something to capture and divert his attention from the dark thoughts that loomed over his mind, his eyes roamed the room, fliting over people and observing the minute and yet so very loud stories that were unfolding before him. How curious it was, each and every person having their own story, their own family, their own share of tragedy and happiness and their own dreams. There was a young girl, perhaps twenty or so, sitting hunched in the corner with a dark blue beanie and ripped jeans. Tattoos wove their way up her arm, settling onto her neck, the light from her phone she had pressed close to her face illuminating the nose piercing and the slight blush that still shone from her cheeks. A bushel of roses took up the seat next to her, tied in a dark red ribbon, two different coloured duffel bags sat at her feet with papers-papers that looked like college acceptance papers- spilling out of the pockets, A love letter tucked into her pocket.

A shrill cry of ‘mommy!’ echoed through the room, causing other heads aside than from Malik’s to turn. A toddler in a bright pink plastic dress trundled over to woman with dark brown hair, arms open, wide and toothy grin plastered on her face. The woman grins back, sweeping the child into her arms, planting a kiss onto her forehead and causing the child to giggle. Another woman, blonde, makes her way over with two bags- a larger and a smaller, pink backpack, presumably the child’s- and joins in on the hug, if only for a brief but sweet moment. When she pulls back, the brunette woman asks a question, one Malik’s too far away to hear, but the answer the blonde woman gives is a bad one. The brunettes face crumples, tears shine in her eyes but refusing to fall, and she buries her head into the toddlers shoulder. Malik turns his head away.

Curiously enough, the next person Malik’s eyes land on is rather unremarkable. A man, suit jacket slung over his arm with no tie to match and a pair of black sneakers underneath dress pants. Athletically built. Thick, dark blonde hair, scar on his upper lip, a scar to tell a story. Scars as curious as that always have a story to tell, a story to tell perhaps in the dark hours in the morning where almost everyone is at their most weak and vulnerable. The scar was, of course, curious, but Malik was more interested in his lips.

Soft, full, perhaps slightly chapped, they were the kind of lips fantasies were born from. They were the kind of lips that could build you up and destroy you in a single sentence, all while making you fall in desperate, wild, unforgiving love with the owner. They were the kind of lips that were good in a smirk, a sneer, not in a smile but oh so delicious in a frown. The kind of lips you wanted pressed against every inch of your being, whispering all sorts of things, dangerous things perhaps, unkind things, but oh, you wouldn’t care because you would have those lips all to yourself, because whoever owned them was _yours._

Malik tore himself away, telling himself that if he strayed too long, he would get noticed, he would go down in the man’s mind as ‘the guy who stared at me in the airport’. But no matter how much he tried to stop himself ( or how much he tried to hide it ) his gaze kept drifting back to the man with the scar on his lips and the suit jacket slung over his arm.

An old man taking a seat wearily beside him, reaching into his pocket for a newspaper with a crossword half finished. ‘Cannibal’ for number four, down. He puts down ‘my wife.’ as an answer.

_How did he get the scar? Did he get into a barfight? Or perhaps something more serious, he served the military, he certainly has the body for it._

Two parents enter, swinging a young boy in between them, singing ‘Under Pressure’ off tune but with so much joy and laughter its impossible not to smile, until one of them stops and his face drops in belated shock. The father lets go of the child’s hand, backpedals, checks behind him, and Maliks close enough to hear the hushed ‘we forgot the bags’ that he whisper-shrieks to his wife. Her face goes white, stark against her bright red curly hair that falls across her face, barely held back by a bright pink headband. The boy asks for a cookie.

_What purpose could black sneakers serve, while wearing a suit? Was the man expecting to be running while still dressed in formal wear? The shoes would have stood out less if he had gone barefoot._

Malik gives up, allows himself to continue to steal longer glances at the man. All in all, he’s thoroughly confused on why this man seems to have captured his devout attention. There’s nothing special about him, nothing blindingly interesting, nothing to draw his attention to him at all and _yet its there._ The man, while reasonably attractive, was almost like the men and women who lived in the political side of his city; expression carved out of stone, his silence solemn, lonely, all dressed and living and breathing black, white, grey-except his eyes.

Malik now believes he has found what has captured his attention for so long, too long. A peculiar colour, but not unpleasant, in fact most extraordinary; a blend of brown, yellow, an almost golden honey colour, which in itself may not be extraordinary but it wasn’t the colour, it was the way they shone and changed and weaved through different shades when the light differed. He leant one way, they changed to a dark, brooding, almost black where no light shone and secrets were held and dirty little things were kept hidden away. He leant another, they jumped into life; swirling amber that was almost transparent, translucent, cats eyes. Soft eyes that whsipered sweet promises with no intention of keeping them. Eyes with ridiculously long eyelashes. Eyes that could make someone fall in love with just a wink or a glance, eyes that have and will cause heartbreak. Eyes that were now studying him.

To say that he nearly leapt out of his seat in surprise would have been an understatement. He would have literally fallen off his stool if it hadn’t been for his vicelike grip on the bars wooden pillar to his left. Malik didn’t remember when he had grabbed the pillar, but sure as hell he’s glad he had grabbed it now. He looked away as fast as he could, to as far as he could, but it was too late, the blush was already burning in his cheeks. He found himself aware of his mouth hanging slightly open and snapped it shut, swallowing the screech of embarrassment that was rising up his throat.

Bad idea.

Very, _very, very bad idea._

He kept his eyes diverted, not moving his gaze from the hideous blue and green tiled floor, pretending-awfully-to study the seemingly random pattern placed there by the tiler. Every second seemed like an age. All of his senses were shut off, numbed, every fibre in his being shrieking at him and burning from the shame and embarrassment, so it was only when they were only four feet away that he registered the sound of sneakers squeaking on the tiles, sneakers coming steadily closer. He only dared look up, however, when the heavy thud of a duffel bag sounded in his ears-it seemed to echo, everything seemed to echo- and he felt a small tap on his shoulder.

_Please don’t be him oh fuck please don’t be him, please_

The man with the suit jacket slung over his arm and a scar on his lips was standing in front of him, arm retracting from reaching to tap him on the shoulder.

_Oh fuck me_

“Excuse me. I’m sorry to bother you, but you’re a taxi driver, yes?”

That was not what he was expecting to come out of that man’s mouth.

_( he was expecting something more along the lines of ‘why the fuck were you staring at me, do I have something on my face or what’ and having to go through the horrific process of having to explain that no, there is nothing on your face, I’m just in love with your eyes and lips, please press yours to mine )_

This throat and mouth were to dry to answer, so he simply nodded. God knows how the man knew this, and he certainly wasn’t going to ask.

“Good. I require your services. Can I hail your cab? After you’ve...finished your meal, of course.” He nodded towards the long forgotten burrito, teetering dangerously on the edge of Malik’s leg. He seemed to share Malik’s doubt of whether it was edible or not.

“i..i..i’m sorry?” Malik was, put simply, struck dumb. His mouth opened and closed like a fish, and he was sure he looked ridiculous, but he couldn’t help it. This turn of events had ripped the rug from beneath his feet and he had landed hard on his ass.

“Oh, my apologies. You probably need my name. Its Altair. A pleasure, I’m sure.”

  1. The name was sharp and cold like his voiec, cut the tounge to say, brought the smell of foreign spices and images of pale sun-beat stone to Maliks mind. “Altair.” He repeated. “Its…yes. It’s a pleasure. I’m Malik. You need a taxi?” Short, quick fired setences were about all he could manage to spit out. The blush was still afire on his cheeks, showing no signs of retreating any time soon, but Altair had the good enough grace to pretend not to notice. “ Yes. Not very far, just the block of flats called-“ he paused a moment, a slight frown glancing across his face- the only sign that he was capable of emotion at all- before reachig into one of his pants pockets and bringing out an old, weather beaten and dog eared leather notebook. He flipped through the pages quickly-Malik catching glances of scribbled notes and checked off lists in black ink-before stopping on a page and pressing his index finger to an address near the bottom of the yellowed paper. “-Harbor lights. Can you take me there?”



Harbor lights was an apartment block that sat by the docks, seven stories high, constantly lit up like a casino, and nail bitingly expensive. The rumours of nightly prices that had reached Maliks ears were, in the least, four digits, but the view of the harbor and the flats themselves were apparently priceless. They also happened to be a good hours drive away, an hour that Malik could spend asleep on his couch while trying to watch another dreary soap opera.

Perhaps, if Malik hadn’t lost his phone, he wouldn’t have convinced himself he needed the extra fare money for a replacement.

Perhaps, if Kadar had packed his bag, Malik wouldn’t have happened to chance apon Altair.

“Of course.” Malik found his tounge again. “ Its an hours drive away, so we should get going now. If that’s alright with you, of course.” The snide remark slipped from his mouth before he could stop it, a natural reaction imprinted on his brain from years of quick comebacks and sarcasm-learnt from dealing with shitheads and drunkards that chose his cab to hire. A frown slunk its way on to Altairs face _( and oh those eyes grew hard, so dark and delicious )_ as he caught the remark, registered it, confirmed It was mockery. For a while he said nothing, and for a while Malik waslike a mouse being examined by a bird of prey, and for a while Malik felt the fear only prey could feel in the eyes of a predator.

“Fine.” Altair said, turned on his heel, picked up his duffel and made his way to the exit.

Malik had never been so happy to throw away a meal before.

The silence in the cab was so thick it could have been cut with a knife.

He had turned off the radio, per request of his passenger. His request had been the only words he had spoken since they had left the airport, and Malik should have been relieved that he wasn’t talking. Being a driver of a cab meant he got his fair share of strange and unwanted conversation; parents chattering on about daughters at university, slimy men in cheap suits and gelled back hair trying to sell him into a pyramid scheme, drunk teens on their way home from a party testing out pick up lines on him. It was always a relief to have a passenger that kept to themselves, made the car ride almost pleasant.

But the silence in this car was almost as painful as dragging nails down a chalkboard.

His gaze flickered to the rear view mirror. Altair was leaning against the window with his face pressed to the glass, those cursed eyes of his catching and reflecting the streetlamps light. Each moment that remained in quiet was another nail in Maliks coffin, another moment to stretch the tension to almost past breaking point, and Malik required sound- some noise, some voice to cut through the stillness that was filling his lungs and drowning him in the dark.

“Youre not from around here, are you?”

The defult line, a question he asked to almost every tourist that entered his cab, the only words his lips could form. Altairs gaze shifted from the window to his, and he simply nodded, a silent no.

“Figured as much, with the suit and all. Not many tourists come here all dressed up like theyre ready for a fancy dress party.”

“Im not a tourist.” First words from the backseat of the cab. Words spoken with a tone of utter blankness and devoid form of all emotion, words that chilled the air and made the cab cold even with the heating at full.

A forced chuckle from Malik. “Oh, here on work buissness, I see. What sort of work requires sports shoes with dress pants?”

“The kind of work whos concerns are over your paygrade.”

Altairs tounge was as sharp as his name, his intent as clear as the night they drove under.

The cab ride fell into silence, and remained in silence.

 

“They’re just up here.”

Malik was pulling up to the side of the road when Altair stopped him, hand on his shoulder. “No. Im only visiting a friend, so ill need you to wait for me. It wont be long, then I’ll need you to take me to a hotel. You can pick one. I don’t care.”

Truly a generous man.

He made sure to say to check Maliks response, see it was favourable, then climbed out of the car-taking his duffel with him. He waited until he was buzzed up and out of his sight before he started the car again, not to leave but to park in the alleyway beside the flats. A silent protest against Altairs demand for him to stay put. If he was smart enough, he would figure out where he had gone.

The alleyway was dark and dangerous, and Malik reached over to click on the locks to the doors. No good getting this extra fare if he got robbed and beaten to a pulb in the meantime. Glancing at his watch-five minutes since Altair had gone into the building- his feet rose to the dashboard and he settled back into his seat in wait, fingers linked behind his head and a yawn creeping to the back of his throat.

The position of his cab provided a perfect view of the resteraunt opposite.The _Al Fresco,_ well known for its authentic itallian food, open roof, and local hotspot for first and fifiteith dates. Malik could see them now; the young on first dates casting shy little smiles, hands flitting over the others, all nervous giggles and lies and too much makeup. The married couples with their laughter bright and truthfull, flirting like they were teens again, shooting dirty looks when the waiter leaves and sure of coming home to a warm bed and a pair of arms wrapped around them. The mish mash of speed daters,  midde aged men and women acoustomed to a life of regection and only there for the food and potential for sex, with phone numbers staying on phones and never exchanged.

Ten minutes since Altair had entered the building.

Malik couldn’t remember the last time he had been to Al frescos, couldn’t remember if he had been alone or with another. Couldn’t remember, even, the last time he had a date, regardless of whether it was at Al Frescos or some dingy bar somewhere.

_( because that was a trend he had recognized through his many, if short and not so sweet relationships- none were memorable, none stood the test of time, none still left him with a pang of heartbreak when he thought about them. They were all the same, all the dates and all the faces and lovers blended together until there was no singularity, just a smudge left of the memory with brown hair there, freckles with him, first date at an amusement park with another. They were remembered in the shadowy light of a cheap pubs bathroom, remembered with the smell of limes, remembered at the sight of El Frescos but never felt, all the same. )_

A year without a date-unless you counted numerous one night stands dates, which Malik didn’t- had left him forced to resign to a brutal if honest realisation-That he was undateable, undesireable, unloveable. Two years of singularity had taken him off the saddle and pushed him away from so much as accepting a compliment or taking the time and effort to flirt back. Three years of being single had solidified the conclusion ( and almost a motto now ) that continued to rule over his love life.

That if love was going to eventually find him-and he was beginning to believe it wouldn’t- then love would have to get up off its ass and come find him, because he wouldn’t come looking for it any time soon.

Of course, Malik had no way of knowing that love had already sighted him in its crosshairs.

Love had aimed with a lucky blue tie and a well placed phone call.

Love had shot him with a half eaten burrito and a pair of eyes across the room.

Love struck him in the face with a piece of glass as the body of the man, who had previously lived in the apartment 32b of Harbor lights was pushed out of his third story window and landed-and shattered- on the windsheild of Maliks cab.

 

 


	2. Serial killers eat toast

"What in the _fucking shit?"_

Glass rained down on Malik’s chest, slicing open his palms and through his shirt to make little cuts in his skin. The car shuddered, groaned, the windscreen giving way to the weight of the man- the man who's feet landed with a rather unsavoury thump onto Malik's stunned lap. For a full thirty seconds he sat there, doing nothing, a shriek building in the back of his throat with his breath coming out in short little gasps and his hands raised, shaking.

That was the scene Altair walked into when he arrived, breathless, face slightly flushed from his desperate sprint down the stairs.

And yet, remarkably, he was the angry one.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing here? I told you to wait around the front!"

No sound made its way past Malik’s lips. He simply sat there, gaping, a dead man lying on his lap and glass shards burying themselves into his knees. A small croaking sound escaped, the only sound he had made since the fact that he had a man-a _dead_ man-lying on him had registered.

“Do you not follow orders? I fucking told you to do the simplest thing in the entire world, and you even fuck that up! Now look at what you’ve fucking done!” Altair spat, face flushed with rage, words like hot pokers against his flesh.

_(Malik had to admit he was extremely attractive when in anger.)_

When no response from Malik came, Altair pressed his lips tightly and ran a hand through his hair. A trembled sigh escaped. “You know what? It’s fine. It’s perfectly fine. I can make this work. Everything will be fine.” The repeating of a phrase, a calming technique, a forced positive outlook. A slight tremor in the hands. In anger or fear?

“Get out of the car.”

“I…what?” Malik’s first words of the evening.

“I said get out the car. God, you can’t even follow the simplest instructions, can you?” Altair yanked the door open, dragging a rather confused and still shock numbed Malik from the car and sending him stumbling into the wall. This time the insults hit home, managed to cut through the haze that had dulled all of his senses.  
“You just dumped a fucking body on my car! You pushed a guy out of a window and killed him! Am I meant to be totally okay with this? Am I supposed to be cool and collected when you’ve just killed a man by dumping him on my taxi?? My taxi which I’m going to have to pay to repair?” The words were hot and angry, bumbled, thoughtless. Altair’s glare softened ever so slightly. “I’ll for the damages. Now help me. Grab his arms” At this he turned, hands brushing the glass shards from the man’s legs before taking a hold. “And he was dead before he landed on your car.”

“Like that’s a comfort.” Malik mumbled in return. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” He made his way to the other side of the car-making sure to avoid the broken bits of glass; he might have shoes on but $10 shoes aren’t very trustworthy- and grabbed the man’s arms. “One…two…three...lift!”

It took five minutes and an equal amount of grunting from the both of them before they managed to haul the body off the car, onto the ground, and propped against the wall of the building. And there they stood, the two of them, almost like artists admiring their work, when the sirens began to wail.

“Shit!” Altair was the first to react, a glance to the end of the alleyway before he pushed Malik into the car. “Go, go, go, now!” A dive into the backseat, Malik following orders-correctly, this time- and the car spluttered, if weakly, into life. “Where?” The gas pedal was pressed to the floor and the car shuddered forward, aching, complaining like an old man. “Anywhere, you fuck! Just get us out of here!”

Malik turned into the street and drove.

They pulled to a screeching stop outside of Malik’s flat.

“You mind telling me what the _fuck_ just happened back there?”

Altair sat in the back of his cab, legs crossed, duffel on his lap, face now cool and calm. A raised eyebrow.

“I think it’s rather obvious, don’t you think? You screwed up my plans. We improvised. All’s well that ends well, yes?” Malik could only sit in stare as Altair got out of his cab-more glass tinkling down as he slammed the door shut- made his way over to the apartment blocks entrance. “Now, which flat is yours?”

“No! No, no no no. No no, oh no you don’t.” Malik shoved himself out of the car, stumbled, almost falling before gaining his balance again. “No! Are you fucking with me? You’ve just killed-“ A hand blocking the furious words that spilled from his mouth, another grabbing his shirt and pulling him inches from Altair’s face, a face seen first as stony and cold now burning with anger and frustration anew. “Do you want me to get me caught? Do you want to go to jail as an accomplice for murder? Because if you keep that up, that’s what’s going to happen.” He hissed. “Now either you shut up, take me into your apartment, and let me explain what happened and what will happen next, or,” A deliberate pause, “I’ll have to make you shut up. And your silence will be permanent. Get me?”

_(Oh fuck he’s threatening to kill me oh god holy fuck what have I gotten myself into oh fuck)_

A trembled nod from Malik. What else was he supposed to do?

“Good. Now, again; which flat is yours?”

 

The trembling in his hand made the glass difficult to lift to his lips, and he tried to steady the tremor. A nervous tapping of his foot under the table, his eyes watching Altair’s every move-placing his duffel beside the couch with the utmost care, pouring two drinks, sipping his own as he walked slowly around the room supposedly in a deep thought (but who really knew) - the booze that burned his throat and lit fire to his insides doing nothing to calm him.

Altair paused his musing.

“I’m a contract killer.”

The words were sudden, drawn out of thin air, spoken casually and with no tone or hint of emotion. The words stilled all of the questions and demands for answers that Malik had, stilled his tongue aside from one simple sentence, a simple and dazed “What?”

“A contract killer. A hitman. An assassin, if you like.” Altair took a seat opposite Malik, hands still wrapped around his half empty glass that now rested on the table. “I get paid to kill certain people. Well, not always-sometimes I just rough them up, take their money and confidence, sometimes I deal weapons or drugs. But most of the time I kill people.”

The scene was surreal, like something out of a bad action film. The main lead sat across from him, eyes that had first drawn his attention watching him again now, the same inquisitive look in his eyes-if this time more open and less of surprise than in wait. The two glasses were now empty much like the silence that filled the air. Words were hard to form, lips moving but no sound escaping, tongue first stilled now tied. A small tilt of Altair’s head, a sign he should give a response and soon.

“Are…are you going to kill me?” The first words that came to mind, the thought of a frightened child spoken in the voice of a man. The first words to make Altair laugh.

It was a short laugh, granted, no more than a chuckle perhaps; but it was still a laugh, something beautiful that caused his mouth to smile and his golden eyes to twinkle and the scar on his lip to stretch. Malik had thought his mouth would be useless in a smile or laugh, it would be dull and too thin and cause the laughter to seem forced and fake but oh, oh was he wrong because his laugh was something almost inhumanely warm and sincere. The face always seeming cold and calculated and stony was lit up just by a simple chuckle, turning him from a statue to someone human, someone you could mistake for a stay at home father or a comedian, so warm and comforting and _homely_ his laugh was compared to the rest of him. “Oh, oh no don’t worry, I won’t kill you. If I wanted to I could have done so many times by now.”

_(Not exactly comforting)_

“Besides, I need you, so it would more hindering rather than helpful to me if you were dead.” He ignored the confusion that his sentence set on Malik’s face and got up from his chair. “Another drink?”

“I…what? You need me for what?” A flicker of anger crossed his face. “Listen, if you think I’m going to help you kill someone again-“

“Ooh, oh no no no. Nothing like that.” He swept the glasses up without waiting for Malik’s answer, holding the two in his hand while using the other to pour from the bottle. “While we hopefully enough to cover up enough of his murder for it to seem accidental, the police will still be sniffing around the town. Just in case.” The booze slopped against the glass as he plonked it in front of him. “I’ll just have to stay with you for a bit. Oh, and use your car…if you have one. Otherwise, the taxi it is.” He retook his seat, another sip from his refilled glass. “I’ll pay for all expenses and, of course, personal damages. It’s like I won’t even be here.” A waved gesture, a smile again but this one smug, ugly, sneering. Altair knew Malik had no choice. His fingers tightened around the glass.

“Fine.” His agreement for Altair to stay was pushed through clenched teeth and a barley controlled scowl as he pushed the drink away, standing up and away from the table. “I’m going to bed. You’re on the couch.” He strode out of the room before a response from Altair could sound, into his bedroom, the familiar faded blue of the walls and carpet comforting, calming, home. His lounge and kitchen was now unfamiliar, invaded by a stranger, no longer his own but at least his bedroom was still unclaimed by the other, still owned by him and shared only by a sweet few. It wouldn’t be shared with Altair.

He stripped, his shirt and jeans thrown to the floor and crawled into bed without bothering to put on nightclothes. The bed was cool and gave him back some sense of normalcy back into his day, the ever constant and ever familiar outside noise of cars and drunken night walkers luring him away into the comforting lull of sleep.

 

He had hoped that perhaps yesterday’s events were some sort of warped and ridiculous dream.

His hopes were shattered when he stumbled into the kitchen-having at least the decency to find and pull on a pair of pants first, who gave a fuck about finding a shirt- at half past eight in the morning to find Altair sitting in the exact same position as last night, a half empty jar of peanut butter beside him as he ate like a hungry wolf.

“When was the last time you ate? God.” Malik’s voice was rough from sleep and his hair tussled, and a small smile flittered its way across Altair’s lips at the sight of him before shrugging. “They had shitty food on the plane.” A brief and mumbled explanation, muffled by the food still in his mouth. No worded response from Malik, just a knowing “mmm” as he made his way to the kitchen to dredge up some coffee, bare feet quiet on the tiled floor. They remained in silence for a while, Malik joining Altair at the table with his coffee as he started on his third piece of toast, for a few glorious minutes the morning was silent aside from the sound of breathing and the clink of Altair’s knife against the plate.

“Right.” Altair was the one who spoke, just after he finished his fourth piece. “Plans for today.”

“It’s my off day.” Malik didn’t look up, kept his eyes closed and sipped his coffee.

“Not anymore.”

“I just helped you kill a guy and you want me to do it again?” A frustrated sigh from Altair, a small victory smirk worming its way onto Malik’s face. “I told you, he was already dead before he hit your car. All you did was help me look like an accident.”

“Oh, because that makes me feel so much better, doesn’t it?” The scowl on Altair’s face deepened a little, but he let the jab slide. From somewhere he produced that old dog-eared notebook – he was wearing the same clothes from last night, Malik now noticed a slightly bloodstained collar- and flipped through the pages. “I have another target, due today. After that you can have a break, then we have another. I’m only here for two weeks, but I need to get ten hits done. Easy.” This gave Malik a snort. “Easy. Sure. Killing people, what an easy and simpleminded job. Why, even a simpleton, a novice could accomplish it!” He wasn’t exactly sure why he was trying to rile Altair up. Perhaps it was the pent up anger of being dragged around and being treated like a puppet.

“Of course a novice could accomplish it. The proof is sitting right across from me.”

Ouch.

“But it takes a professional to get it done and get it done well. A simpleton would make mistakes, and it’s my job not to. Now finish your coffee, we need to go get your taxi repaired for the job today.” Altair pushed himself away from the table, sliding the notebook into a pocket somewhere and hauling the duffel over his shoulder.

A rolled pair of eyes, a half finished cup of coffee and an empty jar or peanut butter left on the table.

“Twenty four hours?? We don’t have twenty four hours!”

The mechanic shrugged, wiping his hands on a dirty cloth he produced from his pocket. “Well, that ain’t my problem, son. The amount of damage on this thing is ridiculous. ‘Specially the dent in the hood, that’s quite a doozy you’ve got there.” He had a hearty and family man chuckle, thick white eyebrows raised.  “Donno how you managed to pull it off, and frankly I don’t want to know. What I do know is that it’s gonna take at least twenty four hours to fix it, and there ain’t nothing I can do about that, no siree.”

The scowl on Altair’s forehead deepened, golden eyes alight with rage and frustration. The amount of fury he seemed to be radiating scared Malik. “Its fine, Altair, we can hire a car.” A desperate attempt at assurance before he did something drastic, Malik was afraid.

_(Who wouldn’t be? He had serial killer on his hands whose emotions seemed to run wild and free and who was very, very angry, who knew what Altair would do-oh god please don’t let him kill the mechanic or threaten him or something fuck)_

“Altair.” A sterner tone of voice now, a hand on the arm, pulling him back. The scowl remained but he tightened his lips and moved back with him. “We’ll be back tomorrow.” More a threat than a farewell, but it didn’t bother the mechanic who simply waved with a friendly smile on his face. “Will do!”

The wind had picked up by the time they had got outside, bringing the grey clouds that loomed over the horizon and the smell of dead roses with it. Rain would be coming and everyone knew it, shutters were being closed and washing brought in, the streets were empty aside from a few pieces of litter that danced down the path in the wind and the two of them.

“Where can we hire a car?” Altair’s voice, while now not filled with anger and the promises of pain or death, was still bone chilling- a cold an empty tone, the tone he first had when they met, a voice void of all emotion, a tone as cold as the wind that froze their fingers and reddened their noses.

“The dealership is a few blocks down.”

“Let’s go.” He tore his arm from Malik’s grip. Began to follow Malik as they walked.

 

They were still a block away from the dealership when Malik spoke.

“So who are you taking out today?”

A curious glance from Altair, a moment’s pause-perhaps in thought, or hesitation, or because his lips were too frozen to move straight away-. “A man who goes by the name of Garnier.” Altair’s frown was long gone now, but traces remained, like tough and angry eyes and tight lips and stiff tongue. “He works as a doctor in the cities hospital. Old guy. Should be easy.” A small twinkle of humour in his eye. “Even novice like you could do it.”

This drew a snort of laughter from Malik. “I could, but I won’t. ‘Accomplice in murder’ wouldn’t look good on my resume.”

“And what, four years of taxi service does?”

"Wait, how did you-“A smirk from Altair, his eyes rolling. “It says so on that little plaque above your rear view mirror. ‘Hello, I am Malik Al-sayf, I have been with this company since 2011. Nice to meet you.” A disbelieving snort. “Nice to meet you, my ass. Should have gotten a refund for rude behaviour.”

“And I should have turned you into the police. I guess we both have things we let slide.”

“Point taken.”

 

The car dealership was small, seedy, and smelt like Piss.

According to Altair, it was perfect.

“No-one will track us hiring a car here.” He insisted as they sat on the broken couch in the waiting room. “Too much effort a ‘potential homicide’.”

“Hello, my friends! How can I be of service?” The salesman appeared almost from nowhere, all cheesy grins and fake cheer and a toupee that was slightly off balance. He wore a blue suit a size too big for him.

Malik hated him immediately.

“We’re just looking to hire a car, thanks. Only for a day or so.” He kept the sentences short and bitter. He wanted to talk to this small, slimly little man as much as possible.

The grin somehow got wider. “But of course! Right this way, my good sirs!” He led them to the outside of the building, the lot filled with dingy overpriced cars that smelt like vomit and had half of the springs poking out of the seats. “Now, we have a few options, like this dark red Camaro or this beautiful blue Toyota-“Altair, thankfully, cut him off. “We’ll take the silver one. The one in the corner by the dumpster.”

“Of course!” His over enthusiastic voice grated at Malik’s ears. “That will be two ninety per day. It was two days, correct?” This question aimed at Malik. “Yeah, two days. Thanks. Let’s go.” He could barely contain the cringe of disgust. How was it possible for one man to be so repulsive?  “Perfect! I’ll get your papers.” He hurried off, quick little steps, shoes a size too large like his suit.

“He’s like a hamster on steroids.” A mumble from Altair, barley caught as they climbed into the car. It was, thankfully, one of the better and driveable vehicles- while it smelt like greasy chips and hair spray and Malik was 99% sure there was rocks under his seat, the locks still worked and none of the brakes or windows were broken. It was truly a magnificent beauty among cars. “I do hope you have a plan.”

“I always have a plan. It’s you that fucks it up. The only one here that should be concerned is me.”

“Smart ass.”  
“Novice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, i would like to apologize for how long it has taken me to update this fic. Three months? I'm terribly sorry.  
> And why there may not be death in this chapter ( i suppose this is a filler chapter ), there will be in the next one, woot. Thank you for reading, and yet again, i love to read all comments. And thank you for all the Kudos!!


	3. *--IMPORTANT UPDATE--*

**Wow.**

its been...well, who really knows how long its been since i updated this? Im honestly scared to even look. I'm guessing several months.

I can't even use the excuse that I've been busy- because, frankly, i haven't. Ive had plenty of time to continue this and I've just chosen not to.

I've...fallen out of love? With the Assassins creed games? I like them well enough- but the ships, the pairings, they dont quite get me like they used to. So, that's my excuse, and the truth. Its why i haven't updated this in such a while.

BUT.

It's not only this story I've stopped- ive stopped all writing, actually. Ive been in a little bout of writer's block, but not so much a block as a chair i put in front of myself to stop myself from doing anything. I haven't written anything in months, and im not okay with that.

So, despite the fact that...my heart isn't in the pairing anymore, anyone still following this story ( which i doubt ) can expect updates. I still have a passion for writing. I still love it, my heart is still in the writing, and i need to get back into the practice. This is as good a way as any, right?

And, yes, I've seen your comments. I've seen all the Kudos, and i thank anyone who left a comment or a Kudos from the bottom of my heart. This fic was, still is really, my baby, something that - though short and uncompleted - im incredibly proud of, and it means so much to me to see you people love it. I simply cannot express my thanks for those people. Youre the ones who encouraged me to come back into writing. You're the ones who kept that passion for it going.

I thank you, and hope i haven't let too many of you down.

See you all in the next update, or, if you want to ask any questions, in the comments.

-OhWowAltMal

( But call me Mal. )

 


	4. Smoking is bad for your health

“No, no, no no no. You said I wouldn’t be involved!”  
“I said you wouldn’t _directly_ kill them. I did say I would need your help.”

“For driving you around? Yes. For helping kill someone? No!”

The argument had been running in circles for almost twenty minutes now, a vein on Altair’s forehead beginning to pulse in frustration.

Not that he cared.

There was no _fucking_ way he was doing this.

The assassin sighed, palmed his eyes. “All I need is for you to watch the door while I get things ready. And be my cover. You’ll be sitting on your ass half the time.”

Malik crossed his arms. “Like a sitting duck. If you get caught, I get caught. If you go down, I go down.”

A deepened frown. “I won’t _let_ you get caught.”

Malik gave a fake laugh, one of disbelief and mockery. “Oh, yeah, because I’m going to take the word of a _serial killer_. Like I would ever-“

He was cut off, suddenly finding himself pressed against the side of the car, one of Altair’s fists pressing against his neck and the other held over his mouth. Faces inches apart, his cold golden eyes - a lighter colour today, the beginning hues of a sunset, olive oil in water, a colour too soft for the man they belonged to – piercing and glaring into his own.

“I am _not_ a serial killer.” He hissed, fist in his neck pressing harder, Malik coughing into his hand. “I am a hitman. I am a man who takes pride in what he does just like any man who does his work well. I’ve been doing this job for _ten fucking years_ and I’ll be damned if some _nobody_ taxi driver thinks ill fuck up simply on the evidence of last night. Evidence that wouldn’t exist if you, not I, hadn’t fucked up _his_ job.”

He pulled the fist pressed against his mouth away, lessened the force on his throat, and Malik could breathe properly again. He watched him cough and regain his breath before speaking again.

“So, mister goody two shoes, what will it be?”

 

Spoken with a hint of provocation, an almost daring glare, urging him to fight back and stand his ground. Remain on the moral side of battle. To resist the insults and fire back with his own, to defend himself.

A heavy moment silence between them, Altair remaining with arms folded, Malik with one to his throat, eyes met and both afire in rage and injustice.

(The latter mostly in Malik’s.)

Silence because he knew when he was beaten, silence because he was too proud to give away within seconds of enemy fire.

“Do we have to steal clothes too?”

“This is incredibly demeaning.”

Altair pushed him past the reception, giving a nod and a fake friendly smile to the woman who staffed it.

“Count yourself lucky we couldn’t find a body bag.” Spoken through gritted teeth, harsh words hidden by a whisper and a faked smile.

Malik sat in a wheelchair, arms crossed over his hospital gown, glare dark and deep. Altair pushed him along in a nurse’s outfit, nodding to other staff, nametag reading ‘FRANCIS’ in big and bold letters.

The hospital was large, immaculately clean, and rather busy for the time of day. People with ailments both visible and not sat on plastic chairs, against walls, lying on stretcher beds. A little girl clutching her arm that was twisted at an unnatural angle held a particular fascination for him as he was pushed away.

Poor kid. She looked barley eight.

Clumps of nurses and doctors lay scattered where there was free space, clustered together as they pointed out things on clipboards or ate sandwiches and laughed at some horrible medical joke an intern made. Always in groups of two or three, like some exotic species that stayed away from others, due to extreme prejudice or simply for survival.

They certainly held their noses high enough and avoided looking at the patients too often.

_You only want to help the needed until you get a steady pay check._

“What’s the game plan? Stick him with one of his own needles?” Malik asked. Spoken to avoid looking about anymore, to be reminded of how much he hated hospitals. Hated the florescent lights that were always too bright, the smell of vomit and antiseptic, the sense of death and grief that lingered on the faces of people who had lost.

“Ha-ha. You don’t need to know. You just sit there, look pretty, keep quiet, and be my cover.”

_Did he just call me pretty?_

Altair pushed him deeper into the bowels of the hospital, and the noise quietened down considerably – most people walking the halls now either staff or patients already in treatment.

“You want me to help? You tell me what’s going on. Else I start screaming bloody murder and you…well you get the drift.”

Altair’s grip on his wheelchair tightened, and Malik could almost feel the heat of his anger radiating from his chest.

_Malik 1, Altair 0._

“Garnier happens to be an avid smoker-“

“Didn’t know we can give people lung cancer within thirty seconds nowadays.”

He could hear Altair growl from behind him, and a little smirk wove its way into his face.

Oh how he _loved_ antagonizing him. Made the fact he was a puppet playing the part of an assassins hand maiden a little less terrifying.

“As I was saying, he smokes. A lot. And this nasty habit will be the end of him, when he goes out for his eight thirty smoke break and discovers the screws on the balcony fence that he leans on are a _tad_ loose.”

_Oh, shit._

He raised his eyebrows, almost a little impressed at the detail he had put into planning this. “Sixth floor, too. Ouchie.”

Altair snorted. Another small hint of emotion. “Ouchie indeed.”

They remained in relative comfortable silence for the next few minutes, staff glancing at them but not giving a second thought to wondering why they were there.

He had to admit, Altair had a pretty solid plan.

He was almost beginning to enjoy himself when he heard shouting behind him, and he slowed to a stop.

“Sir? Sir, might I ask who you are and where you’re going?”

Malik turned to see an older gentleman, one of the senior doctors, standing beside Altair with his hands on his hips and a quizzical look on his face. His heartbeat quickened and his palms began to sweat.

_Oh shit we’re fucked._

But Altair’s façade never cracked.

“Certainly sir. I’m Francis, one of the transfers from east Flent? I’m taking my patient here to Doctor Weston.” He spoke in a cheery voice, smile broad. It was even more terrifying than his usual stone cold demeanour.

The elder doctor frowned. “What’s your patient’s ailment?”

“Peyronie's disease.”

The name (though unknown to Malik) seemed to cause quite a change in the elder doctors behaviour; he immediately crossed his arms, stepping back a little, throwing a pitying glance to Malik.

_What the fuck is Peyronies?_

“Well, Doctor Weston is currently on leave. You’ll have to take him to one of the upper holding areas. Lifts down there.” He pointed down the hallway, nodding, leaving quickly as soon as his job was done.

“Goodbye sir!” A final, overtly happy goodbye, the smile disappearing as soon as Altair turned back to Malik and act all but gone. He resumed pushing, turning down to where the doctor had pointed, pressing the button to call the lift.

“Do I want to know what Peyronie's is?” said Malik.

“No.”

 

The ride in the lift to the sixth floor was done in silence, only broken by the god awful 50’s lift music that seemed to grate at his ears and worsen his headache.

The elevator dinged, and Altair pushed him out into an empty hallway. This one seemed…fancier, than the last, rich blue carpet instead of cold tiles, soft yellow lights and paintings of farm fields on the walls. Altair’s footsteps made no sound on the ground as they moved, swiftly now, though Malik didn’t know if that was simply the carpet masking the noise or the fact that Altair could move like a shadow.

They came to an emergency exit, a small glass door that lead out to a miniature balcony and concrete steps leading downwards. A small metal fence surrounded the platform, thick and black and cold, marred and worn down from multiple palms pressed to the bar.

“Wait here. Make sure no one sees me.” Altair let go of the wheelchair, reaching into his pocket to get his screwdriver, opening the door to the balcony. A rush of biting wind raced through as he stepped outside, bringing the smell of cigarette smoke and the sounds of the city below with it. The door was shut again, and back to the dull warmth of central heating and deathly silence of the hallways.

He was extremely tempted to go on his phone.

But he had a job to do. And no matter how scared he was of him, how much he _hated_ him, he was given a job and he would complete it.

He sat there, tapping his fingers on the arm rests of the wheelchair, looking about him. Whistling for a bit before realising it probably wasn’t the best idea. Admiring the paintings on the walls, playing with the hem of his gown.

Five minutes.

_How fucking long does it take?_

It was reaching the ten-minute mark when the door behind him opened, another blast of cold air, hands on the handles of his wheelchair.

“No problems?” Altair’s voice was suddenly in his ear, low and questioning, making Malik jump.

_Alright. Malik 1, Altair 1._

“Unless you count extreme boredom as a problem, then no.”

“Good.” Altair straightened, made their way to the elevator, pressing the button and waiting.

“You know, that took a lot longer than I thought.” Malik twisted around in his seat to talk to him, putting an arm on the back of his chair, eyebrows raised in question. “Your job didn’t go wrong, did it?” A small jive, a smirk. Altair’s gaze flickered downwards, face unchanging. A small lick of his lips before speaking. “It didn’t take too long, or not long enough. You measured by how long it took me to come back. By how bored you were.” The elevator dinged, and he pushed him inside, pressing the button for the ground floor. “I measured by how long I had until Garnier finished his double lobotomy.”

 

The night wind was cold on his bare legs, and whipped his hair about into his eyes.

But by _God_ was it welcome compared to the stifling air of the hospital.

They ditched the wheelchair as soon as they were out of sight, Malik pulling his pants on underneath his hospital gown, leaving his shirt for the car. They remained quiet as they walked, voices not needed to provide sound; the noise of the city, especially in this district, was enough to provide distraction from what they had done. The shouting of drunk teens still adjusting to alcohol, car horns, a battle between Italian music and Mexican being played from two neighbouring restaurants. The stars were out now, but the streetlights blocked most of the view, as did the towering buildings – pent houses, skyscrapers, small clusters of restaurants with apartments built on top to save space. The streets weren’t empty, though they weren’t full, mostly couples or drunken groups of friends. The occasional students coming back from a late night study session. A few homeless folk lying with sad eyes and thick jackets in the small spaces between walls. A stray dog wandering the empty street.

Altair had lit a cigarette and Malik could smell the smoke, burning his lungs and making his eyes tear. The bud of it burned bright and red, adding a little colour to his cheeks, the small embers flickering and reflecting in the windows beside them.

“A little ironic, don’t you think?” Malik said.

Altair looked back to him. Gave him a small smile, shrugged, remained silent as he drew in a breath.

His footsteps made sound on the concrete. His eyes, focused on the sky and whatever few stars you could see, looked human. He kept his hands in his pockets to keep them warm and threw small change to one of the women who lay with an empty hat in an alleyway.

It was hard to believe this man was a cold hearted killer.

 

“We’re not done.”

The first words spoken since they exited the hospital, by Altair, spoken as he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

Malik stared at him in disbelief. “What?”

Altair’s gaze was kept straight ahead. “We’re not done with Garnier.”

Malik groaned, thumping his head against the dashboard multiple times. “You’re fucking kidding me?” Raised his head when they pulled to a stop after thirty seconds.

“We’re at the hospital again?” Asked in confusion.

Altair produced the infamous notebook from one of his many pockets, a pen, red inked. Nodding. Looking out the window, to the little alleyway beside the hospital, at his watch.

“Not long now.”

_Oh._

eight thirty two.

Seven seconds past the two.

Malik heard the yelling from the open window, turned his head away before Garnier hit the ground with a solid thump that even he could hear from the other side of the street. A crack as his skull burst open, as his neck broke.

Altair pulled away before the screaming from the onlookers could begin.

“Drinks?”

“Drinks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like i said, im still getting back into the practice of writing, so many apologies because its not up to my usual standard.  
> Hope you guys enjoy the new installation! Im aiming to update regularly now. Thanks again for all of your Kudos and comments, it all means so much to me!


	5. The past, prostitutes, and prejudice.

The bar was loud, crowded, dimly lit, and stank of vomit.

But it had cheap beer, and it was close, and that was all that mattered. 

They sat in a little corner booth, their seats about as quiet as it could get here, hands wrapped around glasses and phones kept hidden in pockets.

Though there was plenty of background noise – drunken hooting, laughter, glasses clinking and bar stools falling – it wasn’t loud enough to block out the sound that was being played repeatedly like a broken record in Malik’s head.

The thump of his body hitting the ground.

The sharp crack of his spine.

Repeated. Over and over.

Thump.

Crack.

Thump.

“Malik?”

Altair’s voice managed to pierce through his haze, a hand pressed to his shoulder, those golden eyes examining his. If Malik didn’t know better he could have sworn there was a shred of worry in them. But it was gone as soon as it was spotted.

“I said, do you want another drink?”

Malik looked down at his glass, realizing it was empty, nodding silently. Altair gestured the two fingers to the barmaid, who nodded in recognition. He turned his attention back to Malik. Licking his lips, almost in slight hesitation – he feels emotion? What a miracle! Who knew? – tilting his head to get a better view of Malik’s face as he stared into the marks on their old wooden table.  
“Malik, I know…not everyone is _accustomed_ to my line of work.” The hand was still on his shoulder, Malik wondering briefly why it still lingered, it didn’t need to.

“Be in this business long enough, eventually it grants you a certain…numbness, to it. Eventually you grow used to seeing people dying because of what you did. I’m sorry that you had to-“

“How?” Malik interrupted him, an angry spit, avoiding his gaze with white knuckles clenched around the far too empty glass. “How do you grow _used_ to killing innocent people? He probably had a _family_ , and you just…don’t care? How sick and twisted _are_ you?”

Altair pressed his lips together, forming a grim line, hand now slipping off his shoulder. Whatever humanity or morals he had gained in those few precious seconds were gone, Malik could see it, see he had lost the opportunity to _know_ Altair; not know Altair as the man he now saw, as the cold-blooded killer who loved no one and nothing and cared not for the consequences of his actions – but to know the _human_ side of him, the one his laugh belonged to, the one who threw petty change to poor women and tried to comfort a shell-shocked man. The one who gave a piece of candy to the girl with a broken arm in the hospital and the one who, despite their hatred for each other, despite his every reason not to, paid for drinks and car damages and tried to keep Malik as far from the violence as possible.

And Malik had blown this few seconds chance with a few words spoken in a drunken anger and a refusal to accept the comfort.

He wanted to slap himself.

“I know he was a bad man. I know that he smoked four times a day, drank thrice, visited whore houses every two weeks. I know he took unneeded organs from oblivious patients to sell on the black market. I know he funded grave robbers and I know his wife died eight years ago.” The waitress came over, placed their drinks on their table. Altair ignored her outstretched hand that was asking for a tip. Kept his eyes focused, locked with Malik’s, again the cold amber alight with the fire of rage. “Now I can’t promise you every target I take down will be a bad man. I know some of them are even good, if one can define the difference between good and evil. But what I can promise, Malik,” He leant forward a little, hissing the words, ignoring his fresh drink, “Is that I am _not_ evil. I am not sick, or twisted, or sadistic – your fragile grasp on what crosses the fine line between good and evil is warped, distorted, not the average of what everyone thinks because what you think is evil someone else will think is inherently _good,_ Malik _,_ because what you think is bad is only bad because it has a negative effect on _you_.”

Breath hot on his face, Malik barely breathing, the finger pointing and prodding into his chest harsh and causing a bruise to form.

“Do not call me evil. Do not call me twisted or sad or sadistic; I am not a monster for what I do. My work does not define me, nor does you being a taxi driver define what you are, we are simply men who want to earn a wage. Now finish your fucking drink.”

He leant back against the seat, Malik exhaling with a shaky breath, Altair bringing his glass to his lips and drinking. A pregnant silence between them.

“I didn’t say you were evil.”

Spoken in place of the vulnerable words ‘ _im sorry’_

Altair looked to him. Snorted, raised the glass again. “Sick and twisted are often used to describe someone worthy of that title.”

Malik sighed in frustration, raising his own glass to drink. “I didn’t mean-“

“You did not mean anything. You spoke out of anger, as did I. The only difference was you had a reason to speak as such and my words were simple retaliation. Think before you open your mouth next time.”

It was Malik’s turn to glare. “Jackass.”

“Novice.”

 

They wandered outside, cool night air refreshing after the awkward heat of the bar, moon full above their heads. The wind had calmed down now, but still lingered, strong enough to tug at jackets and make the rubbish on the ground dance but not quite enough to pull about hair or become uncomfortable. The streets became quieter the older the night became, and by now the night was aged, and scarce few wandered the pavements save hookers or the homeless.

Altair did not seem to mind this.

They walked in silence for a while, the car had been parked a good twenty minutes away and Altair’s insistence. He hadn’t given a reason, but at that time Malik didn’t want to ask. Malik had wanted nothing aside from a small drink and a quiet place to think.

Well, he got one of those things.

Malik had not wanted to ask before, and he did not want to ask now- but the silence now compared to then was different. While not uncomfortable, the silence left Malik to think about what had happened – not with Garnier, but with Altair. The small moment he had missed.

It only occurred now to him the unfairness of it all. Here he was, carting him around, doing all his deeds like some mindless puppet, and he barely knew anything about him or what he was doing. By comparison, Altair had been to his house, eaten his food, slept on his couch, drunk his booze. Malik didn’t even know who he worked for or why he was doing this.

_“We are simply men who want to earn a wage.”_

That had been a fair enough point. The only difference between them was Altair had taken the immoral path towards survival rather than work an honest living.

_“What you think is evil someone else will think is inherently_ good _, Malik, because what you think is bad is only bad because it has a negative effect on_ you _.”_

For some reason this was the sentence that was now on repeat in his head, the sentence that had replaced the sounds of Garnier meeting the concrete.

_(That, he was glad for. Even if this new broken record brought horrors and conflict anew)_

What did he mean by that? Did he mean Malik only viewed his actions, his work as bad or as ‘evil’ because they had a negative impact on himself? Because his work provided no positive consequences for himself, provided nothing but hindrances towards his lifestyle and routine?

Did Altair think he was that selfish?

_Was_ he that selfish?

Perhaps he meant that if Malik was in a different position, one of the patients that had organs taken by Garnier, or one of his nurses, or even Altair’s employer, he would have felt different about his death. Glad, even.

Perhaps that was true.

He wondered what Kadar would make of all this.

He’d laugh, probably. Laugh at Malik being the hand maiden of an assassin, laugh at how the body had landed on the car roof and scaring the shit out of him, laugh of how he scared he was at him. Laugh at him and tease him, telling him how this was his fantasy, the strapping cold blooded assassin with the golden eyes falling for the simple and poor yet _handsome_ taxi driver.

Wait, what?

Since when was that his fantasy? Where did that even _come_ from?

Though to be fair, Kadar definitely would have made a joke about hidden blades in pants. Or something dirty like that.

These thoughts got more uncomfortable by the second yet refused to vacate his mind, and he sought to get rid of them by any means.

“So, how does one become an assassin?”

Altair looked to him when he asked, slightly curious, a small smile creeping its way onto his lips.

“What? You looking to join our numbers? You’d barely pass the entry exam.” He said with a snort of laughter. “Besides, I thought my profession was ‘sick’ and twisted’. When I’m not being referred to as a serial killer.”

That was harsh, but well deserved.

Malik frowned, but lightly. “No. You said you’d been doing this for ten years, so that’s what? Since you were sixteen? How do you even decide to work in that area at that age?”

Altair laughed at that.

_(Malik marked that down as a small victory.)_

“I’m flattered, but it was at eighteen. I’m twenty eight, Malik. Trick to looking young? Bathe in the blood of your victims.”

Malik pulled a face and Altair rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Malik. Learn to take a joke.”

“Learn a sense of humour.” Malik muttered.

“As I was _saying…_ ” Altair ignored the quip, “I joined the military when I was eighteen. Special Forces at twenty, honourable discharge at twenty two. They would have had me working with M16 or the CIA, but I branched off into more…private sectors.”

“Honourable discharge? At that age?” Malik asked, confused. Granted he knew next to nothing about the military or anything to do with that, but it seemed a young age.

“Mission injury. Thought I was dead, I was marked killed in combat for six months. Showed up after seven with six gunshot wounds and a _hell_ of a temper.” Altair shrugged. “They thought it easier to discharge me than throw me in a hospital for another few months and send me back onto the field again. Especially when I had made myself clear that I didn’t exactly…like my superiors.”

“Jackasses?”

“Something like that.” Altair muttered.

They walked in more silence for a few more minutes, Malik thinking over the new information.

Regardless of his curiosity, he did _not_ want to know what ‘private sectors’ was.

“Should you even be telling me all this?” Malik asked. Altair glanced to him, shrugged.

“No harm. You don’t know my last name or who I work for. Besides, I think you’re smart enough to figure out that if I go down I’m taking you with me.” Altair said.

Malik nodded.

“See?”

 

They were driving back home now.

Malik’s curiosity had been satisfied with those answers. He had almost forgotten about what he- what _they_ had done, barley three hours before. He almost couldn’t remember what the hospital smelt like anymore.

He pulled up to a red light, the only car there. Tapping fingers on the wheel, radio still turned off, sitting in comfortable quiet. Outside, hookers stood on the sidewalk, standing and winking in their fishnet stockings and miniskirts and bad makeup. Blowing him kisses.

Altair watched them as they winked, flirted, threw ‘call me’ signs to him. Malik sighed. “This is why I hate going to this part of town.”

Altair glanced to him, back to the whores. “Not your type?”

A small smile from Malik. “Something like that.”

The light turned green, and they drove for a bit more, before Altair suddenly grabbed his shoulder. “Wait. Stop.”

Malik screeched to a hold, and the grip on his shoulder tightened. “I meant pull over, you idiot.”

He glared to him, well, went to – Altair had opened the door and gotten out, onto the sidewalk.

“Altair? Altair what are you-“Malik leant over, looking out the window, swallowing his next insults, foot stamping harder on the brake pedal.

Altair.

_Flirting_.

Or at least that’s what it looked like. Unless small smiles, lidded eyes, shoulder and hip and arm touches and leaning in too close to her face was some sort of secret hidden thing he was unaware of.

He was talking to her, some whore in a short black shirt and with horribly cut blonde hair, but Malik couldn’t hear what he was saying- didn’t want to, in all honesty. He felt sick. Always did when he saw her kind. Sick and sad, sad of what they would have had to go through just to get to that point, sick at what they did, sad at their lives. She stood with the confidence of someone well practiced, flipping her hair, Necklace with some sort of pendant resting on her exposed breasts and red and pink arm banner twirling up her arm. An arm with plasters, hospital needles or something worse? Horrible glittery blue eye shadow that seemed too bright to be a real colour. He couldn’t do anything about it, but he could complain, just sit there, still leant over to his seat, watching Altair do...what?

Was he going to _hire_ her?

Nope, no fucking way, not in _his_ car.

He was going to spend his night and money with some tramp that needed it for drugs thanks to daddy issues? He could find a hotel. The fucker was a hired hitman. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford it.

Malik shuffled back into his seat, pulling out of the curb, driving off back towards home. He saw Altair turn in the mirror, watch him leave, throw his hands in the air before turning back to the prostitute.

Though Malik was far away from him and in a car, he swore he could hear his angry voice shouting profanities.

_Malik 2, Altair 1_

“What the _fuck_ was that for?”

Ten past one. In the morning. Woken from a bleary and alcohol induced sleep on his couch by a furious Altair, dragging him to the kitchen table, pushing him into it as Malik tried to get his bearings.

“Well, for your _information_ -“

“For my _information_? Oh don’t treat me like a fucking _child_ who doesn’t know what he’s doing, Malik. I’ll have you know I knew _exactly_ what I was doing. What I can’t figure out is what the _fuck_ got into your head to make you drive off on me!”

Altair was shouting, the first time since the first night, face flushed from either the anger or the cold or both. Malik couldn’t even speak, still tired, in shock, tongue frozen in fear and mouth open like a fool.

“What did you think, Malik? Did you think I was lonely, and decided to hire a hooker to make me _feel good?_ And what, you, you in your inane jealousy or drunken state or even just deciding to be a _fucking bastard_ decide to drive off and leave me an hour’s walk from home? Are you fucking kidding me?”

_Jealousy?_

Though he was already pressed against the table Altair shoved him again, fists clenched, white knuckled anger fuelling his words.

“No. No, Malik, for _your_ information I wasn’t lonely, or _sad_ , or even just bored. Lily- yeah, that’s her fucking name, Lily, real nice girl- works for my next _fucking target_!”

_What?_

Altair saw the confusion on his face, allowed a little bit of smugness and pride into his voice now. Backing away with hands on his hips.

“Yeah. The next guy? He runs whore houses and strip clubs. Does a little human slave trading on the side. And Lily? Lily, the girl you in your little dim witted mind thought I was going to _fuck_ , she happens to know where he will be tomorrow, and was ever so kind to tell me when and where my little friend will be. Even gave me a spare fucking key into the place.” He pulled a key from his pocket, a little golden one with a pink and red ribbon, shoved in Malik’s face.

Malik’s hands were shaking. He felt sick.

Altair put the key back in his pocket, breathing hard, face still flushed and dark with anger. “I do not allow personal preferences or _pleasures_ to get in the way of my work, Malik. Do not allow your prejudice, pride, or jealousy get in the way of yours.”

_Again with the jealousy? What the fuck did that mean?_

Altair turned, made his way to the lounge, picking up Malik’s beer bottle and throwing it at him. He caught it just before it hit his face, and Altair threw himself onto the couch, putting his hands behind his head and closing his eyes.

Tonight had not been Malik’s night.

He looked at the bottle in his hand, put it on the table quietly, went to his room without another word. Stripping and climbing into his bed.

_” I do not allow personal preferences or_ pleasures _to get in the way of my work, Malik.”_

Malik, for once, admitted he was an idiot.

He dreaded the morning.


	6. Doggy style or no?

It was a bitter and cold morning, one drenched in unforgiving silence.

They sat at opposite ends of the table, avoiding the others eyes, hands wrapped around mugs of something warm and neither making a sound. Malik didn’t know if they ever would. Perhaps they would spend the remaining two weeks in a pregnant and tense quiet because both of them had too much pride and resentment to break it.

_Be the bigger person._

 Why should he? It wasn’t his fault Altair decided to not be forthcoming about his plans.

_But you’re still the one that drove off and left him there._

Granted, that _had_ been a petty and rather childish move there. It was just another one of the many moments of last night that he regretted, and there was plenty.

Yet, though he knew he was partly to blame for the tension that lay heavily between them, his lips refused to part and make sound. Refused to let him apologize and sate the damaged pride, to nurse his wounds but with a clean conscious rather than dirty hands, refused to let him - as his mind so _endlessly_ begged him – to be _the bigger person_.

He was drawn from his self-wallowing in pity by a voice from the other end of table.

“I’m sorry.”

Malik had expected a silent morning, perhaps a silent afternoon or even evening, he had expected the tension and hot _resentment_ to grow between them until it burst and burnt them both. He had expected an argument.

He had never expected this.

Malik looked up from his coffee, remaining in his quiet, though it was now not a sullen quiet but a stunned silence. Altair was looking at his palms, pressed against the table, almost as if he was trying to keep grip on his reality. After a few heartbeats he looked up, kept his grip on the table, knuckles growing white. He licked his lips and spoke again.

“I’m…I’m sorry. I’m sorry about last night and that I did not tell you about my plan. It wasn’t fair of me.”

The table fell into silence once again. Finally, Malik pried his stubborn lips free and allowed himself to speak.

“I’m sorry too.”

Altair waved his hand in almost a dismissal, but Malik felt himself bursting through anyway.

“I shouldn’t have driven off, that was a dick move, and you’re right, I didn’t think. Let’s just…” He sighed, ran a hand through his thick hair. “Can we have a little more communication between us? So I don’t drive off next time?”

Silence must have been on sale today, for there seemed to be no shortage of it.

A slow nod from Altair, eye contact not breaking, slightly pursed lips. He stood, Malik’s grip on his cups clenching in almost self-defence, unsure of why. He went to the longue and Malik heard some rustling, some metallic clinking – he shuddered to think of what sort of metal things could clink like that, for he only knew a few things made of metal that an assassin would keep and they certainly weren’t tea warmers – before Altair emerged holding a small, yellow, tightly bound and thick paper packet. He placed it carefully on the table, sat, stuck one finger on it to point.

“That is my intel. Some I have collected, some I was given. This, I am not sharing with you.”

A slight twinge of annoyance.

Altair unwound the package, brown cord weather worn and old, slid out a thinner white slip. He pushed it forward towards Malik. It remained in the middle of the table, a peace offering.

“That is the _basic_ details of each target. Things I was given when offered the job. Names, ages, work details, possible ways of elimination. You can have that. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.”

He took the packet.

In taking the packet he had broken the unspoken rule of privacy between them, he had joined the crusade. No longer was he a simple transporter, a simple messenger bird or a taxi driver hired to do work without question or judgement. He had become _involved_. To have the packet in his hands was no better, nor worse than to have the blood of each target on his clothes and the knife in his hands. And though Altair never mentioned it, nor Malik never questioned it, they both knew what it meant.

Malik didn’t have to take the packet. He could have left it on the table and remained a simple messenger.

Now, he was an ally. A partner in crime. An aid in a murder.

And, begrudgingly, he and Altair had become a team.

_(Malik had always wanted to part of a team, though he had pictured himself riding on the shoulders of his softball team rather than sitting at a table discussing how to murder someone.)_

He took the packet and placed it on his lap, Altair watching his movements as he did so. Caution, admiration, or hostility? Or something even petty, like annoyance at the fact Malik had decided to become an element in his life?

Malik was too tired to notice and too tired to care.

Before He could speak again Altair stood, taking his empty cup with him, winding back closed his yellow folder and sliding it under an arm. “I’m going to get breakfast. After, I’ll be gone for a few hours to get Intel and equipment for tonight. I’ll be back at eight, and we leave at nine, so… you have the day to yourself I suppose.” A clink as his cup met the counter, the rush of water as he rinsed it. “Try not to get yourself killed without me. Or kill anyone. Or both.”

“Smartass.”

“Novice.”

Irony.

Fuck how he hated irony.

Though it did provide ample time for naps.

The radio was playing some dither – though not that teenage heartbreak thank god – and street noise seeped in from his open windows, as did the sun which warmed his toes as it slowly crept up his leg. A tossed aside book to his left, an opened soft drink by his feet, and though there was the occasional tooted horn or creak of the building settling he had quiet.

Silence.

Peace.

And he _hated_ it.

Back one – god was it only a week ago? Back only one week ago this would have been perfect. A lazy afternoon, room warm, a soap opera or two, maybe read a good book. Go out for a walk. Visit the beach maybe.

Now those things appealed him as much as eating dirt.

It was all _Altair’s_ fault. Before, his life had been perfect – simple, quiet, undisturbed. Now he had spent the last two days hiding bodies and picking up hookers, and the worst part was that he had _liked_ it.

Well, no, he hadn’t enjoyed being an aid in murder, or being in constant fear that he would be killed at any second, but he had enjoyed the _excitement_. The, the feeling of breaking the rules, of acting young again – which was a stupid statement to say considering he hadn’t even hit thirty yet – of going out and doing something _radical_.

Though he would have preferred this feeling coming from going to an amusement park or something similar rather than helping an assassin.

He supposed it was about time. He had spent the last five odd years doing nothing with his life; wake up, eat, work, eat, TV, bed, repeat. He had been riding downhill with no brakes for the past five years until Altair decided to be the rock that threw him off.

_Being thrown off often results in injury._

Better to hit the concrete than ride into a pit of snakes.

Or, in his case, twenty more years of taxi service with nothing to show at the end except a watch, a pitiful pension, and a midlife crisis.

He roused himself from his wallowing to glance to his watch, wonder how much longer he had until he lived again. Four hours.

Maybe he would order lunch from that new vegan place. It looked terrifying on the ad, but it was something new he hadn’t tried. Maybe it would satisfy his newfound and irritable craving for excitement.

He doubted it.

 

After a horrible, expensive lunch, a phone call to Kadar to see how he was going – ‘hot, blistered, and in constant terror of the wildlife’ as he had put it – and another nap that had resulted in a nightmare, Altair arrived as a saviour to his constant hell.

Half an hour late.

“Put this on. You might have to come in and your usual drab makes you look like a hobo. This place has class- well, as much class as you can get from a strip club.”

An insulting greeting. At this point he relished the slander.

Altair had thrown a black bag to him, presumably full of clothes, before he disappeared to the bathroom to change into his own. Malik rummaged through, picking at things, – the entire outfit would make him look like one of those pimps that picked up vulnerable women at the beach – throwing the bag back to the floor with a sigh. Getting up, stretching, clicking his back and pulling off his shirt to get dressed.

It took him less than five minutes to – Altair hadn’t provided his with shoes, so he assumed his usual black work ones would do – and he was correct in assuming how he would look dressed in it. Open red shirt, black jacket, black jeans. All he was missing was the greased back hair, sly smile, and sunglasses.

And by _god_ was he grateful he was missing those.

He heard Altair walk from the bathroom, turned to him, words that questioned his fashion taste in an insulting but humorous manner dying on his lips.

Malik wasn’t surprised that he had picked the better outfit for himself.

But he was surprised – as he had been often today, he did not enjoy this feeling of always being caught off guard – that he looked incredibly good in it.

Even more surprising was that Malik noticed.

And that he _liked_ it.

“…you were saying something?” Altair had spoken, said, said something, said that, Malik finding his tongue again.

_What the fuck is wrong with you?_

“Uh, yeah, why do I look like some shady guy selling fake insurance, while you get to look like Tom fucking Cruise?”

His shaky and blurted out quip earnt a short laugh and a smile from Altair. “You look fine. Besides, that’s only if you come in. Which you won’t be. But just in case. “

Was that a compliment?

_Why are you reading so much into this?_

Altair walked to the table, shiny shoes squeaking on the floor, picked up the white packet he had given to Malik earlier. It still lay there, untouched, and he looked over questioningly. Almost as if in a taunt, a ‘you wanted information yet you’re too afraid to read it?’ tease. Knowing how Malik was still hesitant.

“I was too busy. I have a life, you know.” Defensive, striding over to snatch it from his hands, tucking it under his arm. “I’ll… read it in the car.”

Altair smirked.

_Arrogant prick._

He had only been home ten minutes and already Malik found himself on the defensive, trying to rebuke every taunt and tease and insult thrown his way. As you do.

“Well, at least I have a life. Why were you late? Too busy deciding which knife is your favourite?”

Altair pursed his lips, tilted his head, looked away, almost as a yes. Like he wanted to agree but it would be untrue, a deliberate movement to make Malik feel like a fool before he realized that wasn’t what he was doing. Making him believe he actually _was_ picking out a favourite knife.

“Decide on a favourite knife? That was a battle won years ago, no, simple traffic. Even an assassin has to adhere to some laws, you know, and road safety is one of the most vital.” A humorous tone broke the otherwise serious face, and Altair wandered past into the lounge, picking up the discarded book.

“Yes, I see you definitely have a life. _Of mice and men_? Seriously? What is your life, an eleventh-year English class?”

Malik crossed his arms, glare he had been holding back slipping darkly onto his face. “It’s a good book.”

“Clearly. That’s why you stopped reading on the….fourteenth page. Too much excitement for your heart to handle, hm?”

Silence was his reply.

He allowed Altair this battle.

_‘Allowed.’ Don’t fool yourself into thinking you have the upper hand in either wits or skill. The only thing you have the upper hand in is morality._

He tossed the book down to the couch, crossing back over to the table, rifling through the new bag he had brought in and placed on the table – the bag Malik had been too busy in a battle of wits to notice. A small, simple plastic one. Bland. Supermarket brand. Its contents, which Altair produced within a few seconds of gaining Malik’s attention, were more interesting – a small white box. Too small for the bag, yet it was its only contents – perhaps it was valuable? The box seemed thick and good quality, a pure white rather than the dull colours you get on buckets or bottles of hand cream.

Altair noticed him watching, a small smile cracking his face, and shook the box. It made a rattling sound, like a bunch of marbles were rolling around with enough space to clash but not enough to move freely.

“They’re drugs. Not for us, I’m sure you’re devastated, now can you stop ogling everything I do so we can go? We only have...” A quick glance at his watch, “ Twenty minutes, and unless you’re going to drive like you did abandoning me the other night I suggest we leave before we’re late.”

Harsh, but deserved.

“Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

 

Fifty minutes.

That’s how long Altair said he would be in there.

Malik sat outside the club in his car, watching the ever constant stream of hookers, teenagers, and sad middle aged men flow through the doors. He could hear the music outside, a dull beat that no matter how much time seemed to pass change, and wouldn’t be drowned out however loud he turned up his radio.

At half an hour in he had given up, turned the radio off, gave in to waiting. He still had twenty minutes, give or take, to sit and watch and wait.

_“And what do I do if you don’t come out?”_

_‘You drive. You drive like hell and you get the fuck out of there. Get rid of your car, dump it in a lake or something, get your company to replace it and don’t go home for a month. This guy is dangerous, Malik. Don’t get involved.”_

He didn’t have to say the last part. He didn’t _want_ to get involved.

And yet as he sat out there, in the cold, he found himself aching to be in there.

To _do something._

Forty minutes. Ten to go.

He was nearly falling asleep on his face when a gaggle of scantily clad girls passed, all giggling and wearing too much makeup. He watched them walk towards the club – not much else he could do, was there? – and hesitate before the door, flirting with the bouncer who just looked back with an amused face. It wasn’t anything unusual – perhaps the next shift of dancers, waitresses, maybe even customers – and Malik would have been content to move on to the next small sliver of entertainment that passed him by if not for the sudden banging on his windshield.

“You look lonely!”

Another one of the girls in booty shorts and a crop top had decided to give him a heart attack. Grinning with a toothy smile, brushing her dyed blonde hair from her brown eyes, cleavage nearly shoved right in his face as he wound down his window to hear what she wanted.

“What kinda man sits outside a club all lonely like? You don’t have ‘ta be nervous, sweetie, is it your first time? I’ll give you the tour! Ooooh, you’re so handsome, my girls will love you!”

_Wait, what? What was going on?_

Before he could protest, or even make sense of what was going on, she had dragged him from the car – waving over excitedly to the group of girls he had noticed earlier and calling a greeting in that horrible, over honeyed drawl. She looped her arm around his, kicking the door shut with her heels, reaching into his pocket – and making him jump when she grabbed something else with a giggle – to get his keys and lock his car.

“Actually, I’m, I’m uh waiting for a friend, he should be – “

“Well more the merrier! Come on, sweetie, let’s go find him and have a party!” Said in excitement as she dropped the keys back into his pocket.

It occurred to Malik that her overzealous makeup and faked adoration hid a complete and utter maniac.

Either that or she was a marketing genius.

Without finding out if he was in the presence of a madman or a maniac he was suddenly shoved into the club, cold and biting night air replaced with the humid and thick atmosphere that smelt of sex and alcohol. The light was dim and gave the place a red tint, so crowded Malik was always brushing against someone – whether it be a customer or worker – and forcing him to stand on his tiptoes to see.

He stopped moving – where was he even going? – And leant against a rare empty wall, blinking, trying to salvage a breath and reorganize his thoughts.

Barely a minute ago had he been sitting in the car, waiting for Altair to come out, to be finished and done so they could order Chinese and go to bed.

Now, thanks to a girl who probably did this so often any man could recognize her on the street, he was leaning against the wall of the very strip club Altair had told him _specifically_ not to go anywhere near.

How quickly life threw knives at him. A body on a car, a whore wanting a raise.

Fuck.

_Find Altair._

A glance to his watch revealed he had- shit, he had seven minutes. Seven minutes until Altair would be leaving to find an empty car with his getaway driver inside the club he had just killed someone in. Shit. Shit Shit.

_THINK. Who was his target? Where would he be? How would Altair kill someone in the middle of a busy strip club?_

The man’s name was Talal. He owned this and a string of other strip clubs, dabbled in drugs, owned a human slave trade on the side. Sells his used whores when they wanted out or weren’t pretty enough to be on stage to pay off his drug debt.

_“Hes an arrogant asshole who thinks nothing can touch him. Total womanizer too, fucks all his personnel, has like four girlfriends. It’s honestly going to be a pleasure to off this guy.”_

Well, has the owner, a show-off, did drugs… and if he was here, tonight, there was little chance he’d be in the back room counting money.

_That means he’s somewhere in the main part of the club, unless he’s in the VIP rooms…but why would he be there if he could take what he wanted when he wanted? He has to be in one of the lounges._

Where was the lounges?

He inched his way along the walls, trying to avoid the customers and flirting staff, making his way to where there seemed to be lesser people. Either this was the way to the lounges, or there wasn’t anything interesting enough to draw the attention of horny 40-year-olds.

Granted, they didn’t need much.

“Hey pretty lady, you wanna give a lonely man like myself the time of his life?”

“Depends on how thick your cock and wallet is.”

Malik cringed.

This is why he hated these places.

It took him long enough, too long to make his way to the other wall, standing on his tiptoes above to crowd to see if he was in the right place. There will little alcoves along the wall he was pressed against, those had to be them right?

A loud hoot of laughter interrupted his thoughts, made him and a few others around him turn to see where it was coming from. The brief interlude allowed him to gain a few seconds of sight, to see where he was going.

A small, yet plush lounge, bright red and thick chairs with an old and scratched oak table between them. Glasses, money, bags of…substance littered the table, as well as a pair of feet belonging to one of the angriest faces he had ever seen.

Yet the man with an angry face seemed to be laughing.

The man with the angry face also happened to have the same face as the one on the photograph in Altair’s booklet of targets.

_Talal._

He was surrounded by four different women, all barely clothed, giggling. One of them was playing with his hair, the man himself after stopping his laughter talking to another who Malik couldn’t see.

_Act natural._

He wondered over to the lounge, keeping a small distance, original plan forgotten. He could barely take his eyes off Talal. Even though he couldn’t hear him speak he reeked of arrogance and importance, hands too low on the dancer’s backs to be polite, all sly grins and greased hair like a rat.

_”It’s honestly going to be a pleasure to off this guy.”_

For once, Malik had to agree with Altair.

_Where was Altair?_

A glance to his watch revealed he still had two minutes. Did Altair leave early? No, Talal was still alive, he wouldn’t have left yet. Unless he had poisoned his drink? But surely he would still be dead by now, maybe Altair got-

A hand on the small of his back pushed him forwards, into the lounge, moving from his back to wrapping around his waist and bring him into the side of whoever-

_Altair?_

“I found him! Took me long enough.” Altair spoke loudly, not to him but to Talal, grinning. Talal turned to Altair, grinned back.

_Altair what the fuck._

“Ah, this is him, yes? Jamie! A pleasure!” Talal reached out over the table, shaking Malik’s stunned hand. “Vincent was telling me all about you two! _Veery_ interesting! I may need to expand my clientele base, your partner here has given me many ideas! It is the golden age of acceptance. Perhaps I will put my first club here? Eh?” Another rough, broad laugh, Altair laughing along with him. Grip on his waist tightening.

Talal calmed himself, face turned from angry laughing to angry serious.

_His face is fucking weird._

“Now, tell me. Very important question. Do you two, you do it doggy style or….No? Different positions? Or perhaps both?”

_What. The. Fuck._

Malik moved to get away from Altair but his grip didn’t allow him to, fingers digging into his side, smile still plastered on his face but no laugh this time. “Ah, Talal, that is slightly too personal my friend. Though I’m sure I can get back to you later about that tonight, after going home, eh?” Laughter from the table, Malik’s face flushing a bright red.

While the table was still in tears Altair tilted his head, bringing his lips close to his ear, making Malik shudder.

“Play. Along.”

_Oh fuck you Altair._

“Vincent, I wanna go home. I have work tomorrow and I don’t want to spend my whole night with you in a strip club.” Malik made his voice whine, grabbing his arms close, turning his face away. He had expected more nails digging into his side, was pleasantly surprised when there wasn’t.

“Ah, he has fair point. It is late, you have family. You go. I take care of your business, eh? We speak at a later time. “Talal gave a dismissing wave with a smile, as if they were two business partners discussing this month’s profits. It felt eerily normal.

“Ah, I will see you later then Talal! Gotta keep the peace. You understand.” Altair gave a wink to him and Malik couldn’t escape the kiss he planted on his cheek, couldn’t stop the flush of red on his face, wanting badly to escape from there. Get out of this weirdness, this new Altair that he was not used to and very uncomfortable around. He was too normal. It was fucking weird.

_The kiss was nice._

Altair didn’t let go of his waist until they had left the building, until they had gotten into the car. When they did they sat there in silence, sat in the car both avoiding each other’s eyes and bodies and talking.

A sigh from Altair.

“I’m sorry about that.”

“You say sorry a lot for a supposedly cold-blooded assassin.”

A small and sweet smile from Altair. “I suppose saying sorry to you is my repentance for not saying sorry to anyone else.”

Malik started the car.

 

“So how’s he going to go?”

Another cup of warm coffee, another gathering of the two round table knights. This time no tense silence between them, this time a comfortable one broken as easily as a knife through soft butter.

Altair took a sip. “Overdose.”

“The drugs you bought this morning?”

“Sold them to him. Put too many in his drink. They’ll mark it as an accidental overdose of product sampling.”

“Won’t they know you sold it to him? And they’ll figure out you put too much in his drink?”

A small shake of his head. “The ones I put in were the same but diluted. Slow working. He’ll already be home with the rest before he realizes something's wrong.”

Silence again.

Malik’s turn to speak. “Do we have another tomorrow?”

_We. Not You. We._

“No. Too many deaths related to each other draw attention. Break day, then another.”

“Plans?”

“Nothing solid.”

“I was thinking of going down to visit a friend, then maybe hit the beach. There’s a play down at the theatre. If you promise not to assassinate anyone, do you want to come?”

Altair’s eyes had closed, and the soft smile was still on his face, though hidden by the mug as it was brought to his lips.

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for how long this took me! Exams have really been keeping me down the past week or two, I've barely had any time to do anything. But don't worry, I'm trying to be as active as i can! Fun stuff coming soon, i promise.  
> ( Also bonus fact: Altairs and Maliks alias in the club arent just random - Jamie is 'jamie fox', as in the actor who played Maliks role in the movie this is based from, and Vincent is the same character as Altair in the movie. Because I'm fun like that. And utterly unoriginal with names. )


	7. Never trust an artist.

“And they simply _dropped_ it onto your car?”

“Believe it or not, that’s how it went. I swear to god I had a heart attack.”

Leonardo’s laughter filled the room, bouncing off the walls and drawing the attention of Altair. Malik couldn’t contain a smile himself, though more at his friend splitting his sides rather than the story itself – Leonardo’s joy was infectious and why he was such a lonely, simple man Malik would never know.

They sat in his friend’s living room, Altair choosing to stand and wander about freely, admiring the paintings on the walls and the view from the windows. He had plenty of fodder, too – it seemed for every four canvases Leonardo splattered with paint he kept three.

His apartment was one more thing Malik loved – and the list was short – simply because of how it managed to remain cluttered, messy, and paint splattered every hour of the day yet was still able to feel homely and welcoming. If you didn’t break your neck tripping over the blank canvases and empty paint tins cluttering the front door, and didn’t drown in the ocean of fabrics that lined the floor in the hallway like a second carpet, you would find yourself in a surprisingly spacious and warm living room that, while sharing the traits of the rest of the house, had its titbits organized into little piles around the room. At least three separate easels all with their own half-finished painting sat in the far left corner, partnered with a side table covered in paint and brushes, buckets, and bowls pushed into the corner to create a small and leaning tower. A plush, if faded blue rug decorated the floor, stained wooden walls with artwork of all kinds hanging upon them, and a few dark grey couches that were spread too far to ever hold a decent conversation. The floor-to-ceiling windows that faced out into the city allowed the afternoon sunlight to seep in and warm the air, as well as providing a view that only the rich could afford.

Leonardo was far from rich, however, and how he managed to be able to afford his place was another one of his few secrets he kept from Malik.

Malik liked to imagine an underground black art market. Paint made from ivory, paint brushes with race winning horse hair, easels made with wood from Michelangelo’s bed. It made him laugh to think of his kind-hearted and gentle friend sneaking around abandoned warehouses in the dead of night, wearing all black and making secretive deals to paint with only the _finest_ of hues.

Leonardo managed to pull himself together, cup of tea in hand still shaking from his laughter, free hand pushing back the blonde strands of shoulder length hair that fell into his eyes.

“Oh, oh, what did they do next? My goodness that is simply _hilarious_ – oh, the poor fools, imagine how they’ll explain it to their boss!”

Malik grinned, his tea finished long ago now sitting beside him, his hands instead linked on his lap. “Let’s just say they were… _very_ apologetic. And that I won’t have to worry about rent for a while.”

This earned another laugh from Leonardo. The man seemed to laugh at everything.

“Oh, I see. Their pockets just _happened_ to be empty when they went home.” A slow, deliberate wink to Malik, sipping from his tea, wiggling his eyebrows.

He was certainly a character, Leonardo.

Altair, now bored, wandered over; taking a seat beside Malik. He picked up a stray book and flipped through it, catching Leonardo’s attention.

“Are you a fan of Stephen King, Altair?”

Altair looked up, flipping the book shut with a satisfying _thump_ , expression the same of when Malik first met him. “Occasionally. I don’t like a few of his recent works.”

“And why is that?”

“I’m old fashioned. Prefer Hardcover over electronic. The store near my store stopped selling his novels, and I don’t own a credit card, so I can’t read them.”

Leonardo pursed his lips, a soft frown glancing over his features. “So because you cannot read them, you simply decide to dislike them?”

Altair placed the book beside him on the side cabinet. “Why do I not see a tablet or any digital artwork in your house, Leonardo?”

“Because I don’t like-“Leonardo suddenly grinned, leaning back into his chair, waggling a finger in Altair’s direction. “Ah. _Touché_ , my friend.” He hid his mouth behind his hand, looked to Malik, a dramatized theatre whisper, “I like him.” Said with a wink.

It was clear Altair had…at the very least a _distasteful_ view of Leonardo.

Wonderful. Time to escape.

“Well, Leonardo, we really must go – we shouldn’t keep you too long from you work.” Malik stood, gesturing for Altair to follow, Leonardo placing his tea to the side.

“Ah, nonsense! I welcome your disruptions, Malik – one never has a boring conversation with you on one side.” He smiled, stood to envelop Malik into a hug goodbye, Malik glaring at Altair from behind his shoulder as the man smirked and arched a brow.

They were almost at the door to leave before Leonardo suddenly slapped a hand to his forehead, a small gasp, a grin. “Wait, wait, Malik! You were thinking about going to the theatre later tonight, yes?” Before he had a chance to answer Leonardo turned, hopping back through the hallway, disappearing around the corner to sounds of clutter being moved or falling to the floor.

Altair leant against the wall, hands in his pockets, looking to Malik with a humorous and almost disapproving look on his face, a look that said ‘ _really?’_

He had no rebuttal but a shrug.

“Aha!” A small sound of accomplishment came from where Leonardo was presumably was, a small tinkle of glass, a curse. Malik turned just to see Leonardo making his way back to them, brandishing two tickets in his hand with a grin.

“I had plans to go tonight, but my date cancelled on me – I’m sure you two will enjoy it even more!” He handed Malik the tickets, slapping a hand on his shoulder, an offer that was more a demand.

Well, tickets were tickets.

They thanked Leonardo for the gift and tea, left, keeping quiet until they were both seated in the car.

“He’s certainly very… _extravagant_.” Altair broke the silence first, a small smile tracing the edge of his lips, causing Malik to give a small laugh as he started the car.

“Yes…he’s certainly an acquired taste.”

Altair looked at the tickets in his hands, examining the text that was printed on the thick paper. “Jekyll and Hyde. Nine thirty down at…Courtney?”

Malik nodded. “The theatre by the wharf. Its known for its musicals, didn’t think they’d do something like Hyde. It’ll be interesting.”

Altair made a small sound of agreement, slipping the tickets into his back pocket, settling back into the car seat to watch the road ahead. “Plans now?” He asked.

“I think I need a nap.”

The assassin pursed his lips. “I think that’s the smartest thing you’ve said since I met you.”

 

 

“So this is the place?”

Malik and Altair stood outside the doors to the Courtney theatre, clutching their arms close and shivering, hands buried deep in pockets to be protected from the biting wind. The weather had taken a turn for the worse late afternoon – the warm and empty skies become pregnant with rainclouds that refused to break, and a freezing wind blew in over the sea to make noses red and bringing the smell of sea salt. Though they stood a good dozen feet from the edge of the wharf both of the men were wet from sea spray, the wind growing waves of such heights that they smashed against and nearly overlapped the concrete path. The seagulls had gone to shelter and it seemed like they should follow – but being the stupid, bored humans that they were Altair and Malik had decided to give the play a shot.

Except the theatre didn’t open for another five minutes.

And they had already been here ten.

The night was already off to a good start.

He pressed himself against the brick walls of the building, hoping to suck some warmth from the cold and unforgiving stone, not surprised when he didn’t succeed. The tall and ornate wooden doors that marked the entrance were, in fact, enclosed in a small alcove that you could reach by hopping up a few chipped stairs – but the hollow was already bristling with fellow theatre goers and there had been no space for the two. With no other way to shelter himself Malik resigned himself to waiting in the open, watching Altair who had begun to pace back and forth to keep warm.

“You look like an idiot.”

“You look like a _cold_ idiot.” Altair grumbled back, rubbing his hands up his arms, keeping his gaze on his feet.

_Touché._

Malik had all but decided to join him in his pacing when the doors suddenly swung open, a blast of welcoming heat striking his face and making him squint at the sudden light.

“Welcome, welcome _all_!”

_Finally_.

They all shuffled inside, a few mumbles and complaints, but all grateful to finally get out of the cold. Altair and Malik were the last in, closing the doors behind them, Malik letting his eyes close as he soaked in the warmth and light. Maybe he wouldn’t die of pneumonia after all.

The theatre longue was large and high roofed, the outer walls of brick betraying the beautifully decorated and lavish interior. A rich, thick blood red carpet lined the theatre from floor to wall, making your footsteps silent and simply begging to have something spilled on it. Paintings – whether they were copies or originals Malik was never sure – lined the beige marble walls, pillars that lay in the corners of the room sporting soft electric lamps that would have been lit with oil or candles before they had electricity, lamps with lace lampshades placed on side tables beside the seats. A smattering of sofas, the domed roof lit by a glittering and expensive chandelier, doors leading to other just as impressive rooms made from dark oak. The theatre smelt like leather, vanilla, and popcorn; an odd combination, especially paired with the deathly silence that could only compare with one of a mortuary.

Even Altair seemed impressed.

The man who had opened the doors and greeted them now stood in the centre of the room, clasping his hands together, a smiling face hidden beneath a bristling moustache and red striped top hat. He sported the typical uniform of the staff – red formal shirt, white tie, black pants and shiny leather shoes. A small nametag read ‘ _Jefferson_ ’ in small printed letters.

“If you are here for the Jekyll and Hyde play, it begins in ten minutes through to room A.” Spoken with a slightly lilted British accent, a friendly voice full of passion and excitement, a gesture to his left towards one set of doors. “If you are here for the Franktown dance performance, that is in twenty minutes, and set in room B.” He gestured to his right towards another set of doors, launching into another set of instructions about another set of performances, Malik not listening as Altair beckoned for him to follow the assassin into room A.

“I may have to take back that promise I made yesterday night, if that man keeps talking. His cheerfulness is driving me insane.” Altair muttered, eyes dark and already bored, Malik giving a snort.

“Whatever. Just try not to do it when everyone is watching.”

“I _never_ let people watch. It’s one of my turn offs.”

“And what, one of your kinks is a loaded gun and bloody hands- or so I’m guessing?”

“You were right on the first guess, but bloody hands just get messy.”

Malik grimaced. “You’re disgusting.”

“Whatever you say, _Jamie_.”

 

Though they said the show started in ten minutes it took another five for everyone to get seated, the doors to close and the lights to dim.

When they did the audience sat in silence for a few moments, giggles beginning to erupt the longer the silence remained, quiet murmurs breaking the quiet and the screens of phones beginning to light. Malik had almost decided to take a nap until the sudden sound of a mans voice sounded on the speakers above.

“Heeeellooo Victorian London!” His voice sounded tinny but enthusiastic, crackling over the loudspeaker, his terribly faked British accent painful to the ears.

“I have a bad feeling about this.” Altair murmured beside him.

The lights lit up on the stage, revealing two men and women, dressed in what was definitely _not_ Victorian English wear, all of them – even the men – sporting high heels and fishnet stockings. One of the men wore lipstick and was holding a microphone to his lips.

“I second that bad feeling.” Malik muttered.

The two women reached into the purses they were holding, drawing out handfuls of confetti, throwing them into the air with plastic smiles, eyes far too wide to be comfortable. They circled the front row like a pair of sharks with their faces nothing but teeth and stares, shaking hands white the men continued to stand in the centre of the stage.

“Are you ready to get _freaky_?” The man who held the microphone suddenly spoke, eyeing up the audience like a bird of prey, winking to whoever met his gaze.

Malik had never been more terrified in his life.

 “How early can we leave without being considered assholes?” Altair leant over, whispered into Malik’s ear, barely heard over the laughter and music that had begun to play.

“I’m all for getting the fuck out of here as soon as possible.” He hissed back, keeping his eyes on the stage, trying to avoid making eye contact with any of the actors.

“Good.” With that Altair stood, Malik joining him. They shuffled their way awkwardly around a sea of knees, purses, and feet, making their way to the hallway that lead to the entrance.

It was the fake British accent that sent the chill up his spine and made him whirl around almost in fear.

“Oh no folks, looks like we got some escapees! Who thinks they’re being _party_ _poopers_? Come back here!”

The crowd booed, and the sudden patter of high heels sounded on the wood beneath their feet, drawing closer with each agonizing second that passed. Altair gripped his arm, drawing him forward, Malik’s legs refusing to work as he looked back to see the almost _terrifying_ sight – all four actors had leapt off the stage and were now making their way towards them, fishnet stockings straining at holding in fatty legs and black corsets looking like they would burst at any second. They all kept with their fake smiles and wide eyes, looking like mannequins that had come to life, chasing them in wobbly steps and nearly falling over each other.

“Run.” Altair’s voice broke through his frozen brain, forcing him to stumble forward, Altair pulling him towards the exit.

He never thought he would fear for his life in a theatre.

They pushed through the doors, slamming them behind them, leaning against them and blinking in the sudden light. The longue was empty so they were alone in their harsh breaths, unable to remove themselves from the door.

It was Altair who snorted first.

It was a noise that sounded like a cross between a choke and a cough, and concerned Malik looked over only to see Altair trying to keep back his smile. There was another snort of laughter from him, disguised as a cough, smile cracking and showing through his hands as he tried to cover his face. Altair looked over, smile finally breaking through and their eyes meeting – and that was when Malik broke.

They both dissolved into hysterical, crazed laughter; Malik’s knees abandoning him as he slid to the floor with his hands covering his face, laughing so much he could barely breathe. Altair simply leant his head against the door with his laughter louder and less muffled. They both did nothing but clutch their stomachs as they laughed for at least a good five minutes, a small _“what the FUCK.”_ Thrown in there that only made the hysterics worse.

When their laughter finally ceased into small giggles Malik stood, getting his balance back, taking the tickets from his pocket and ripping them in half. Then half again.

“Note to self – _never_ take tickets from Leonardo ever again.”

 

They were both seated in the car and about to drive off when they realized they had nothing to do.

Leonardo’s play had meant to run until ten thirty, then they were going to pick up some fast food and get home to sleep – but now that plan A had gone haywire, Malik figured they probably should have made a plan B. They sat there in silence, looking at each other, the rain that had finally decided to break pouring outside as they stared with blank faces and shrugs on their shoulders.

“Get out.”

Malik blinked, startled out of his little world where he was thinking, a slight frown appearing. “What?”

“I said get out. I have an idea, switch seats so I can drive.”

_Oh._

“You could have _said_ -ompfh.” He was cut off as Altair shoved him from his seat, getting out of the car with his middle finger raised, Altair simply rolling his eyes in response as he shuffled over to the driver’s seat. He waited until Malik was sitting his seat before starting the car, driving out of the car park and onto rain stained road, wipers and heating on full strength to warm the cold air.

“Are you going to tell me your idea?” He asked after a few minutes of silence, no sound aside from the rain that fell on their roof and the occasional thump of music as they drove past late night clubs. Altair let his gaze flicker to him for a second, turned his attention back to the road.

“It’s a surprise.”

Malik snorted, folding his arms. “It must be a _really_ well planned surprise.”

He felt Altair tense next to him before he sighed, allowing himself a small grin.

Altair smiled more now.

He didn’t know why he did, and he didn’t know why he liked it either. But it was easier to enjoy it and not question it, rather than make himself more confused at asking himself _why_.

Asking _why_ often lead to more questions, questions he found himself unable to answer.

_Unable, or unwilling?_

“Well, I thought we might as well go out to dinner. I may be new here I but I know at least one restaurant that’s good.”

Malik looked over to him almost in surprise, Altair sparing him a glance before rolling his eyes. “Oh, don’t give me that look. I do have some _class_ , you know. I’m not taking you to a burger king.”

Malik frowned at the jab. “No, I’m just surprised that you’re taking me out to dinner in the first place.”

A small, soft silence, rain pattering and the calming repetitive _swoosh_ of the windshield wipers being the only sound aside from their heartbeats.

“Well, you’ve deserved it.”

_I’ve…deserved it? For doing what?_

Malik felt asking that question would have led to an answer he didn’t want to hear.

They remained in silence the rest of the ride.

 

 

Whatever Malik expected of the restaurant Altair had picked was soon dashed, destroyed, stomped upon, and spat on until they were nothing but a laughing stock.

“Oh...here?”

Al frescos.

Altair glanced over to him, a small questioning glance passing over his face. “Is it alright? I’ve heard good things about this place, but if its-“

Malik shook his head, shoulders, brushing off the memories that were so old now they could have almost been dreams. “No, no it’s fine. I just haven’t been here in a while.”

His worries were petty anyway. Altair would have laughed.

He pushed the doors open and made his way inside, the heavy scent of garlic, basil, and cheese a blanket upon the humid air that seemed to sink and drown the breather. Though not loud, the restaurant was certainly not quiet- about as busy as before and still holding the same type of customers as when he came here last.

With Altair.

The night they had met.

_What are you so worried and tense about? Neither of you belong to a group here. Youre not desperate middle aged women looking to get knocked up before their biological clock ticks over, you’re not a foolish teenager in love who’s hoping this high school romance will last seventy years. You’re simply going out to dinner with the assassin that broke your car, is technically holding you hostage, and literally gets you to help him kill people. Simple._

Simple.

Right.

_Just don’t eat all the breadsticks or he’ll stab you with his fork._

Malik took a deep, shaky breath, let Altair talk to the waiter and organize their seats, following the assassin when he led him to go sit down with stiff legs.

He had too many questions. Far too many questions. Why had he taken him out to dinner – here, of all places? Why did he pull the chair out for him? Why did it seem like Altair was… _enjoying_ this?

That wasn’t typical behaviour of the man. Malik was used to talking to a face of stone, rather than a soft one lit by candlelight, with its ember stone eyes too busy reading the menu to see the excisional crisis he was currently in the middle of.

“Isn’t it a rather stupid move to come here when you killed a man right across the street?”

Malik said the first words that came to mind, the first question that seemed appropriate enough to pass his lips, hands hidden beneath the tablecloth making a fist on his lap. The nails digging into his palm and drawing blood help keep him…sane.

He didn’t know why he was like this.

He didn’t know why he was like this and he was _afraid_.

That was not an emotion Malik was particularly familiar with. Was it normal to be afraid of fear?

A small smile flickered across Altair’s lips, so quick it could have been mistaken for a trick of the light, a shadow cast by the candle resting on their table perhaps. But Malik had learned to recognize that tease of a smile and relish in his ability to help it escape.

God, was he having a stroke?

“Why would it be?” Altair placed the menu on the table neatly, fingers pressing on the creases to help it stay folded. “This place has no connection to the building opposite. We might as well be dining in London for all the police are concerned.”

Malik pursed his lips for a second, thinking about that, considering the point. “Fair enough…still seems a little too soon.”

“And whos the professional here?” Said with a hint of smugness to remind Malik of his palce.

Malik conceded with a nod of his head.

The waiter, spotting both of their menus placed on the table, darted over like a fish to flakes, all teeth and gums and lips so thin Malik couldn’t tell where his skin started and his mouth ended.

“What can I get for you tonight?” He spoke in a high, squeaky voice, a voice that reminded Malik very much of a voice a mouse might have.

They ordered and thankfully he left, leaving them in relative quiet, questions still far too numerous in Malik’s mind to let him rest.

He started small.

“Who do we have tomorrow?”

Altair, in the small moments of peace they had between the waiter and Malik’s question, had turned his attention and hand to the candle on the table; slowly lowering his fingers over the flame to see how far he could get before pulling his hand back and waving it too cool it down. A childish game, but done with such an intense focus Malik could not help but partially _admire_ his dedication – with each go he got lower each time, eventually letting his fingers touch the flame before darting them back to safety again. It almost looked like an exercise.

Except with fingers. And fire. And done while he himself was getting ignored.

“Altair?” Malik spoke again, this time a little louder, Altair’s eyes flickering upwards but hand remaining _oh so close_ to the candle fire.

_How was he doing that?_

“If you wanted to know you should have read the file.” Surprisingly enough not said with a snark, instead with almost the tone of a tired teacher who was fed up of teaching rowdy kids.

Malik sighed.

“Where will we be…doing it?” He asked.

“Should have read the file.”

This time, a frustrated sigh.

“If you’re not going to tell me anything else, at the very least can you tell me what you’re doing with the candle?”

A small glance upwards. “It’s discipline. It’s like entering a bath when the water is too hot – if you do it straight away, it burns; but if you increase the temperature gradually eventually you won’t even notice the heat. I’m learning to gain enough discipline to not move it even when I want to.”

Malik gave a little smirk. “You planning on running headfirst into a burning building sometime, Altair?”

That earnt him an unimpressed look. “At least what I do in my spare time is worthwhile. Can’t say the same, can you, Mr Level 27 in candycrush?”

“Hey, that game teaches me puzzle solving skills.”

Altair snorted. “Sure, Malik. The same way this teaches me how to be invulnerable to fire.”

“Smart ass.”

“Novice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aren't i amazing? Giving you guys a month to wait for the next chapter??? Im the best, i know.  
> Super sorry guys for making you wait that long, then giving you nothing but a poorly written filler chapter while i try to figure out when, where, and how they actually get it on. Ill have something by next time - promise.  
> Have a fun fact - the play they went to? I went and saw last year. Except for me it was actually very enjoyable, nothing like the horrors i describe here. Though there were men in high heels - but they totally rocked it.
> 
> Oh, and guys - again i cannot thank you enough for the support im getting for this story! Like, 90 kudos????? GUYS. that's amazing. Special thanks to Sorsa for keeping me going with both her amazing comments and stories - i would 100% recommend checking out her account, she writes better than i do. Again guys, thanks for all the comments and Kudos, you cannot believe how much they mean to me!


	8. Blood and Wine

“You bastard!”

Altair flinched as the paperback file flew past his face, turning his attention to Malik with a deep cut frown. “Excuse me?”

Malik folded his arms, furiously making his way over to where the file had landed, picking it up and throwing it into Altair’s lap. “Next target is _Abu’l Nuqoud,_ owner of Al Fresco’s, and we’ll be going there tonight to kill him- a gesture of kindness my ass, you took me there to scope out the scene!” His face was flushed with anger but his appearance betrayed him; looking rather ridiculous with bed worn clothes and sleep tossed hair, yelling at Altair when he had barely woken up a few minutes ago. “You _used_ me!”

Altair twisted his mouth and arched his eyebrows, almost in thought, though Malik knew he had nothing to consider. “That’s correct, yes.”

“W-well, that should be it then!”

It was Altair’s turn to frown at that. “Excuse me? Are you expecting me to let you go because I’ll take you to the same place twice?”  A short, bitter laugh, one that made Malik’s frown deepen. “Oh, please, we both know that’s not going to happen.”

 Malik threw his hands up in frustration. “Well, I…the least I could get is a fucking apology.”

Altair snorted, stood, pressed the file to Malik’s chest. “Fine. I’m sorry for making sure we won’t get killed tonight, and for taking you out to dinner at the same time. Please forgive my horrendous actions. Please don’t sue me.” He exited with that, flipping Malik the finger behind him, wandering into the kitchen and setting the kettle to boil for coffee.

“Fuck you.” He muttered, far out of the assassin’s earshot by now.

_He has a point, you know._

Whatever.

Malik tossed the file back down onto the couch, going back to his bedroom to get dressed, running a hand through his thick and tousled hair to try and get it tidy. Altair had said they would need to go out today to get some things he needed, and since he would inevitably be forced to come along he very well shouldn’t be going into town still dressed in pyjamas.

He had just finished zipping up his jeans when a voice sounded from the kitchen. “Are we picking up the Taxi Cab today?”

Malik turned, still fiddling with his awkward belt. “Yeah, at two thirty.” His answer was followed by a short silence, then quick footsteps, making him quickly grab his shirt before Altair entered.

“What did you- oh, am I interrupting?” Said with a sly smirk, his uninvited eyes roaming, unwanted, wherever he pleased, eventually meeting Malik’s narrowed ones.

“I said two thirty. Perv.”

Altair arched a brow, giving a small shrug as he sidestepped out of the room. “Didn’t realize accidently walking in on someone shirtless granted me that title, but alright.”

“It was more the checking me out like a piece of meat that solidified that.”

“If you’re a piece of meat, you must be expensive, because you’re top quality. I’m thinking rump steak. Fine cut.”

“You’re disgusting.” No answer aside from distant laughter.

_Wait…was that flirting?_

_Did he flirt back?_

_Why does Altair comparing him to supermarket produce count as a pickup line and, more importantly, why did he enjoy it?_

It was a compliment. Take it as one, nothing more.

_But why would he compliment him in the first place?_

Now that….He wouldn’t answer that one. That was one can of worms he was not ready to open.

But sometimes, it seemed like Altair was.

 

* * *

 

 

“Peanuts?”

Malik stared, flabbergasted, at the small bag of peanuts in Altair’s hands. “We’re using _peanuts_ to kill him?”

Altair glanced over to him, pushing the doors of the supermarket open, letting him go first. “What did you expect?”

Malik paused. “Well, I don’t know, something elaborate. Killed with his own knife? Accidently burn the restaurant down with him inside? Violent debt collectors?” Said with a shrug. The assassin snorted, slipping the little bag into his pockets, hand reaching up to shield his eyes from the bright afternoon sun. “You’ve been watching too many James Bond’s.”

Malik glared. “Well, what are we going to do then? Shove them down his throat until he suffocates? Roll them over the floor so he slips and breaks his neck? Replace the nuts with arsenic?”

A rolled pair of eyes were his answer. “He’s _allergic_ to peanuts, you oaf.”

He threw his hands into the air. “Oh, that’s makes _so much_ sense. The police will come and I can see the scene now; ‘look Jefferson, he’s dead’ ‘how did he die Jones?’ ‘He’s allergic to peanuts and the _slightly itchy rash_ just went and killed him, what a damn violent way to go.’”

“Why do the cops in your little rant sound like drunk Irishmen?”

“Why do they- look, the cop’s ethnicities and current alcohol level doesn’t matter, Altair!” Malik spluttered, looking at him in disbelief with waving hands and a flustered face. “How do you not get-“

It only occurred to Malik now, with Altair’s hidden smile breaking and the shoulders shaking in silent laughter, that the man had been winding him up the whole time.

He lowered his hands, taking a deep breath, pressing his lips together and letting one hand cover his face in shame. “The peanuts have nothing to do with killing him, do they?”

Altair, now realizing he had caught on, allowed himself to break into laughter; while still trying to keep it stifled to save Malik’s pride his snickers broke free, trying to hide his smile, looking over to Malik with a pitying look and a nod.

He sighed.

_Altair deserved that one._

“Would you at least mind telling me what the peanuts are for?”

Once Altair had contained himself he nodded, getting the bag out from his pocket, tearing a hole in the plastic to grab a few. “I was just hungry.”

“You know we have peanuts at home, right?”

Altair nodded, offering the little bag to Malik while crunching on his prize. “It was more fun this way.” A wink.

Malik glared at him, shoving his shoulder, making Altair nearly drop the bag. “Well, how are we going to take this guy down?”

Altair rolled his eyes, gestured for him to wait while he chewed, swallowing and waiting a few precious seconds before continuing. “He’s actually allergic to shellfish. “

“Oh for fucks sake.”

 

 

They waited outside the restaurant in the alley beside it, windows wound up to keep the heat in, the smell of mozzarella and garlic still somehow seeping its way through the cracks and making the cab smell like pizza.

It wasn’t an unwelcome smell.

Malik sat with his feet up on the dashboard, watching as the cars drove by, fingers playing with the door handle out of nervous habit. Altair sat beside him with one arm hanging out of the window, watching the same cars, the face of stone back and a heavy silence between them.

Finding himself with nothing better to do, Malik turned his attention back to his favourite hobby, the one that got this whole mess started in the first place, people watching. But in the dark alley they had hidden the car in he was deprived of people, of the actual elements he needed to play, so he instead of giving up – because he would not allow himself to do so, his pride so strong it even forbid him giving up in a made up game – he focused his attention on watching the one person he _could_ see- Altair.

Though by now he had spent many days with the assassin, it wasn’t really until today that he noticed he never truly _looked_ at him. Sure, he had seen his face, it would be impossible to not, but never had he really examined him or focused on a particular piece of his face – when they talked, when he glared at him, when he spotted him across a room, it was never an examination – merely a confirmation that yes, this was the man he wanted. He supposed he never had the time. And, since he had no shortage of that today, he decided to finally see the face that had been haunting him for so long.

Starting at the top, fair hair, a dark blonde or brown depending on the light. Shaggy but taken care of, swept to his right, how it stayed in place without hair product was a miracle. Loose strands that fell over his eyes and made Altair tilt his head to get them back into place. It looked soft to touch; not that Malik would ever find out.

A strong nose, wide but not uncomfortably, pointed like an arrow with a slight raise near the tip. Directed outwards, not too overwhelming but enough to see both eyes from his angle and casting a soft and small shadow on his lips. A small scar that ran the length and slightly along his cheek. A nose that was dominant, the strong feature among soft, small enough to not clash during a kiss.

The lips that spun lies, seduced and sacrificed, seemingly so innocent to touch and see but all a trick to make the receiver think the words that came would be as soft as they were. Slightly pursed now as Altair seemed to be thinking, a habit Malik had noticed, to discover how he felt you looked not to his eyes but his lips as a tell. His one weakness, the lose brick in a wall, the opened window in a locked house, the emotions of his lips were the one thing that remained true even if the words spoken were sharper than the knives he cut you with. Full lips that were slightly chapped, perfect aside from the scar near the left cheek. Lips with words to lie, looks to love, and a scar to lure.

High cheekbones, a narrow chin, a thin face overall but rather than giving the appearance of a rat it was more an eagle. He certainly held the poise, Demeanour, attitude of the bird of prey. Weathered hands that rested on his legs now, long and delicate fingers with worn down nails and veins too prominent to be safe. Malik stayed away from his eyes- not because he had already examined them once before, but because he was afraid what would happen if he did so again. He wasn’t sure what he was afraid of, what made him too scared to look there, but this one time he trusted his instincts.

That didn’t stop him sneaking glances at them.

Glowing in the streetlights like forbidden jewels, following the cars as they passed by, colours ever changing as streetlamps flickered, as the moons light slipped in to be reflected, as headlights passed and went and perhaps even as his thoughts changed.  People often said eyes were the windows to the soul and while Malik didn’t believe in such things it still made him curious; how differently did he think to Malik, when watching the same scenery? Did he the cars passing by, the stream of people exiting and entering stores or restaurants, or did he simply see the same world but with a different tint? Perhaps, when Malik saw the red car with a broken headlight pass by, Altair saw the driver instead, the licence plate, the baby seat in the back and the front left tire on its left legs. Perhaps he saw in more detail to Malik, for Malik had to focus to see these things, while it seemed to come so naturally to the man sitting beside him.

Or, perhaps, he was overthinking this all, and maybe Altair was no different to him at all.

But somehow he doubted that.

He was broken from his spiel when Altair suddenly looked over, catching him off guard, giving him a little start. Luckily enough, the assassin didn’t seem to notice his partner had been wondering how his lips felt mere seconds ago.

“Hey, why do you think Abu’l runs an Italian restaurant?”

Malik kind of frowned, Altair seeing his confusion. “Well, Abu’l is an Arabian name, right? Why is an Arabian running an Italian place?”

“I...” He trailed off, actually thinking about this now. “Wait, is this a trick question? Are you going to make fun of me?”

Altair shook his head, his turn to frown now. “No! No, I’m actually fully serious right now, I have no clue. I thought you would.”

Malik shrugged, leaning back against his seat, wracking his brain as he tried to think. “I don’t know. Maybe he just really likes Italian food.”

Altair arched a brow. “Isn’t that false advertising then? It does say ‘authentic Italian’, wouldn’t that mean it was run by an Italian guy?”

“Maybe the food is cooked by Italians. Besides, false advertising is everywhere. I’m not really surprised.”

A small pause. “Yeah, that last part is true. I mean the little sign in the back seat of your cab says ‘I wish you a nice day’ when you evidently don’t.” Said with a sly smirk, a jive that earnt him an elbow in the ribs.

“Smartass.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of using the same insult over and over?”

Malik’s snarky response was interrupted as the door on the left building suddenly opened, bathing the cobblestones in a warm light, two young dishwashers stumbling out in giggles.  They nearly fell down the stairs as they held onto each other, one getting a packet of cigarettes from his pockets and offering the packet to his mate. They each lit one, taking big huffs of the stuff, one coughing and the other laughing at his friends struggle.

_Time to get to work, then._

Altair looked at him, nodded, making sure he knew they were starting now before getting out of the car. Malik followed, watching as Altair got ahead, making the dishwashers look up.

“how much for your uniforms?”

The boys, glanced to each other, confused, cigarettes hanging loosely in their mouths. “Er, what?”

Altair shrugged, getting his wallet from his pockets, flicking through and grabbing a bunch of notes. “I'm on my way to a costume party- wanted the real deal, you know? I'll pay your missed wages and everything.” He handed them both a few notes each, them looking down at their hands as if it were solid gold, back to Altair with wide and toothy grins.

“Deal, mate.”

 

 

“This is way too small.”

Malik tried to adjust the pants, sucking in his breath, waist being choked by the tight fabric. Altair glanced over, rolling his eyes with a sigh, going to behind him. “You’ve done it up to the smallest button, you twit.”

A frown. “I wasn’t exactly looking when I took that guys pants off him.”

“You loved it.”

“I'd have rather we knocked them out than him giving them to me willingly. It seems more..decent.”

Altair fixed his pants, Malik being able to breathe again, pulling his shirt down and fixing his rumpled hair. “But let me guess, that would leave witnesses?”

Altair nodded. “Correct.”

A sigh. “Alright, let's just go.”

 

The kitchen was hot, hectic, and Malik had to yell at Altair to be heard over everyone else. “Where do we go now?”

Altair turned to him, shaking his head to show he couldn’t hear. “What?”

He got closer, one hand on his shoulder, about to yell into his ear when a new voice interrupted him.

“where have you two been?”

A heavy set man lumbered over, mustache filthy and probably teeming with infection, wiping a knife clean on his apron. “Your break was over ten minutes ago!”

Malik swallowed, glancing to Altair. He wasn’t prepared for this – oh, who was he kidding, he wasn’t prepared for any of this. Before a few days ago his life plan was to drive a taxi till he died. In the span of a few days hed been nearly crushed, help kill someone, in a strip club, at a heavenly theatre, flirted with an assassin, and now he was pretending to be a dishwasher to, again, help kill someone.

At this point, if someone asked who he was, he wouldn’t know.

“We know, sir, but the door locked us out. We only just managed to get it open.” Altair spoke in the tone of a frightened but determined…child, almost, making Malik look over to him in both surprise and admiration. That man could change his personality in a heartbeat, he swore.

The chef frowned, an ugly frown that twisted his features and made his cheek fat nearly envelop his small and beady eyes, before sighing. “That door ‘as been sticking for months now. About time I get that piece o shite fixed. Alright, well, I need Xavier on dishes in the third row, and the big man needs his cheque book collected from ‘is office, so Nick, go fetch that.” The man shoved them away, Altair towards a giant sink, Malik towards a small and out of place wooden door near the back.

_Wait, what?_

_Altair was supposed to do the work! He didn’t know what to do!_

He looked to the assassin with a panicked look, back to where the man had been, watching him lumber away to go yell at some other poor cook. Altair took the opportunity to dart over, shoving him towards the door, slipping a tablecloth and a small box into Malik's pants.

“Altair, what do i-“ He was cut off by Altair shushing him, suddenly finding himself pressed against the door to the office, Altair looking behind him quickly before turning to Malik.

“Listen. There's a small stovetop in his office to the left- Abu’l prefers to cook there for himself and small favourite parties. I want you to go to the stovetop and turn everything on. That will get the gas going.” Altair paused to make sure Malik was following, him nodding, looking behind him to make sure no one was coming.

“Once you turn that on, cover the stovetop with the tablecloth, and go through his cupboards. There should be some kind of cheese in there. Get that out, get it on a plate, make it look professional and fancy, put it ontop of the stove. It should, for some, lesson the smell.”

A small pause, a small nod from Malik.

“Once the cheese is out, get the cigars out from your pants. I've already written everything on them. Put it on his desk, find a lighter from his drawers, get the chequebook, get out. As soon as your out we leave. Capice?”

A nod, Altair letting him go, quickly checking behind him before darting away and leaving Malik alone.

_Get in, gas, cheese, cigars, chequebook, get out. Simple._

Malik entered the office, switching on the light, closing it quietly behind him. The office must be soundproofed because it was utterly quiet in there, no sound aside from the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner and Maliks own breathing. It was a shock, coming in from the stark white and bustling kitchen to this; polished wooden floorboards, burgandy expensive wallpaper and cream trim, bookshelves made of dark oak and presumably holding rare and pricey books lining the walls with the pride of place being held by an equally impressive desk. The desk resided in the center of the room, a small scattering of papers held down by pencils and fountain pens. A, surprisingly, cheap IKEA chair.

_Right. Stove. Find the stove._

Malik scanned the walls, looking for the little kitchen top that Altair had described, spotting it near the back. Polished granite surface, again with the dark oak cupboards…Abu’l was definitely not cheap.

He switched the gas on, turning all four switches to the full power, covering their outlets with the towel before he could cough. It muffled it a little bit, thankfully. Malik would prefer to not be found dead in the very office his target was supposed to die in.

_Altairs target._

_Not his._

_Altairs._

Right. Cheese.

Searching through the cupboards below, finding nothing but cleaning sprays and polisher, giving a frustrated huff before turning to the cupboards above the stove. Bread, spices, crackers and….cheese.

Oh, jeez, he could smell it from here.

Malik grimaced before getting the platter down, thankful it was already laid out. He had no idea how to lay out cheese – he always thought to have a cheese platter was expensive, wasteful, and useless.

Well, it wasn’t useless anymore. But he still wouldn’t keep one. Especially after this.

Setting it down on the cloth, standing back, sniffing to make sure it wasn’t too noticeable. Just cheese and dust.

Right. Cigars.

He dug them from his pockets, going to the desk, shuffling the papers away, going to place the cigars in the center and nearly knocking over a wine bottle that was opened, almost carelessly, right beside all the papers.

Wait, was that a wine bottle?

He examined it further, determined that yes, it was, but the odd shape producing from the top was another bottle that had been set to drain into the wine. Curious now, he took the foreign bottle, turning it the right way up to read its contents.

_Rat poison?_

Was…was someone trying to poison Abu’l ? Was Altair not the only assassin after the man?

No, that’s ridiculous. If he had learnt anything from his few days with the man, it was that assassins don’t make mistakes. They don’t leave anything to chance – and leaving a bottle of rat poison draining on the desk in the targets office was, if done by an assassin, was a huge mistake.

So…it was either one of the chefs, or Abu’l himself.

But why? They were evidently paid well, And Abu’l had no reason to kill himself – and poison in wine wasn’t exactly the quickest or painless death out there, either. So why would he try to poison himself? Life insurance? Getting away from hungry debt collectors?

This was quickly turning into a large, confusing mess.

Malik shuffled through the papers on his desk, trying to glean any clue from them, almost giving up before taking a small note at the bottom of the pile. It seemed Abu’l had written it himself, given it someone, and they had given it back in acknowledgement.

_‘Use the Pinot Noir for my special guests tonight. It will be on my desk.’_

So…Abu’l poisoned the bottle, but not for himself. For his ‘special guests’.

Malik was interrupted from his thinking by a few heavy thunks on the door. It was the chef again, and Malik thanked his lucky stars he had locked the door.

“What are ya doin’ in there? Yanking it? Get a move on!”

“Uh, one second! I'm just trying to find it!” Malik called back to an exasperated huff from the chef, breathing a sigh at the sound of his steps getting further away, turning his attention back to the wine.

Poisoned wine for his special guests…why would he want to poison them? Why would he-

_Why are you thinking about motives? You're not an assassin or a detective- he's going to poison people! Innocent people! Do something about it!_

He was right.

Altair had rubbed off too much on him.

Malik grabbed the wine, going to the window to tip it out. It was only when he was holding the bottle nearly at tipping point, eyes perfect to see his reflection in the window, when he hesitated.

What would happen if he poured it out?

_Stop thinking about it! You're going to let innocent people die. Stop thinking like Altair and start using your morals again._

But if he replaced the wine, his guests wouldn’t be poisoned. Abu’l would realize something was wrong.

_So?_

The wine was in his office. If he went into his office, saw the cigars and the cheese, he would know they were put there on purpose. He would open them, he wouldn’t smoke one, he wouldn’t die.

_That’s not how it will go. The assassin rubbed off too much on you, start thinking with your head._

He was thinking with his head, but he didn’t want to listen to it. Because right now it was giving him a choice.

Let innocents live, but let a guilty man be among them.

Let them die, give him justice.

Life or death.

What would Altair do?

_You know exactly what he would do._

When they were outside Altair grabbed Malik by the shoulders, closing the door with his foot, breath a cloud of mist in the cold. “Did everything go okay? Did you do it?”

Malik didn’t speak, simply nodded, lips pressed together, taking the uniform hat off and pulling himself from Altairs grip. “No problems.”

Altair followed him down the stairs, one of his rare smiles broad on his face, a hand going to squeeze his shoulder. “That’s great! I had total faith in you.”

They made their way to the car, Altair seperating to get into the passenger side, the quiet between them now only due to Malik's absence of speech. He simply wanted to get out of there. Away from his decision, away from the independing death.

Before he could start the car Altair stopped him with a hand gentle on his thigh, making him look over to the blonde man, concern – a rare emotion – hidden but still evident on his face. “Malik…is everything alright? I understand its hard and all but-“

“Everythings fine. I'm just tired.” Malik shot him a weak smile, Altair not satisfied but smiling small back, getting his hand away as he started the car and began to drive.

“Well regardless, I'm proud of you today. You did great.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence, Altair watching their path with a small smile, Malik sporting the stone Altair had taught him. Almost as if the two had traded places.

How could Altair be so happy about causing so much death?


	9. An Eagles eye view

Altair did not know why Malik wasted his evenings. 

The man seemed to crave solitude, peace, yet sleeps away the hours in which he could get exactly what he chases. Then he wakes halfway through the day and complains that the sun is too high, that too many people are about, drinks his coffee and wiles away another hour before stirring into proper movement.  

It was a curious routine. In a way, Altair admired that his life seemed so chaotic yet each detail had been sorted- right down to the very second he realized the assassin was still there.  

It was always a pleasure to see the mild shock as he suddenly remembered, either the frown of disapproval or the casual nod of welcome depending on his mood. And, lately, to see the smallest glimmer of glee hidden deep in those brown eyes. 

At what, he did not know. Altair did not know a lot of things about Malik. He knew that the man disliked his work, that he drunk his coffee black, that he had the temper of a sailor with sea-sickness. Altair knew of his particular sense of humor and the mood swings of a teenage girl, that he had the moral compass of a protagonist in a young adult novel, and he knew that he snored. 

But, regardless of all the things Altair knew – or, at the very least, thought he knew – the man still left him at unease. Though he couldn’t hide his emotions well- and it wasn’t like he tried- it was his brutish open-book approach to voicing his opinion that made Altair so confused about him. He acted as if he was angry all the time, yet you could never quite tell what was going on in that head of his. Unlike Altair, he cleverly -unconsciously or not-hid his thoughts through an overwhelming layer of open and raw emotion that masked all potential dangerous ideas or whims. He didn’t care what people thought of him. He didn’t think about how the way he acted could have an impact on the views on himself. He both cared too little and too much, sometimes at the same time, something Altair would not have thought possible.  

He was a curious man. Both in the way he held himself, and the way he was held in Altairs mind. 

“You know, you could just go into the roof if you want to kill yourself. Don’t make it look like I pushed you.” 

Speak of the devil, and he appears.  

Malik leant against the window sill Altair sat on, rubbing his eyes to get the sleep away and yawning after he spoke. The assassin looked over, smiling at his comment, a smile quickly dampened. 

“I have no wish to kill myself.” 

Malik snorted. “Yes. That’s why you’re sitting on my windowsill at three in the morning, four stories high in the air.” 

He rolled his eyes and didn’t bother to retort, assuming Malik would go back to bed and sleep soon, turning his attention back to the streets below while he waited. That was one of the reasons he chose this window to sit from – it gave him a perfect view of the rest of the city, and on clear nights like this one he could sometimes glimpse the sea just on the horizon. The view was one of his favorites, but he preferred it – as most things – a view to be seen alone. 

Another curious thing about Malik was the way he could constantly surprise him. As he did now, when instead of leaving back to sleep he made Altair shuffle over and joined him. 

“What, has this turned into a suicide pact now?” A small joke to hide his confusion, another snort from Malik. The window was large enough for one but fitting two was a challenge, and while they didn’t need to be pressed together they were close enough that hands were grazing and shoulders rubbed whenever someone moved. It was… 

Nice.  

A simple word to describe it. Nice. Not uncomfortable, or tense, not cramped or erotic or tempting or joyful. 

Just nice. 

Altair was not used to nice. 

They sat in this…nice silence for a while, watching the cars pass and the moon travel across the sky and the city lights flicker, sat in silence before – rather predictably – Malik broke the silence.  

“What do you see?” 

The question didn’t so much as surprise Altair but confuse him. What did he see? Was this some philosophical question, or was he quite literally asking him what he saw? Did Malik see something he didn’t? 

“I don’t understand you. Both in general, and what you’ve just said.” 

Malik punched his arm and he grinned, receiving a sigh.  

“What I mean is what do you see when you look down there?” Malik gestured to the city below, looking to Altair who was even more lost, frowned. “Well, you know that saying ‘not see the forest for the trees’? I’ve lived here my whole life, you’re just a visitor – what do you see when you look…what do you see when you look at that store, for example?” He pointed to a small rooftop market, boxes of fruit covered with tea towels and tacky souvenirs. He pointed and Altair looked. 

“I see something pointless. No one would climb four flights of stairs to go and buy something they could find in the market that is two minutes away. If it rains, their store is ruined. If it snows, or it is too windy, it is ruined. They waste their time by being lazy and refusing to set up shop anywhere else.” 

When he finished talking he gained nothing but another snort and a few more moments of silence from Malik, Altair looking over with a confused glance. Was that it? No rebuttal, no desperate and pointless ‘well, actually’ shoved in his face as he tried to replace his opinion with Malik’s own? Not even a shrug? 

Before Altair could voice his sudden discomfort and confusion Malik pointed back to the rooftop, making him follow his finger and spot the sudden light coming from the market. Dozens of Christmas lights, tea lanterns, candles and softly lit lamps were suddenly alight, illuminating the faces of the sudden onslaught of customers. Faint notes of guitar based music drifted over to them, carrying laughter and the cries of small children as they crowd drifted and looked to different stalls. Within the space of a few seconds the before desolate and seemingly unimpressive market had, within a matter of seconds, come to life in the most beautiful way possible. 

And Altair sat stunned. 

"It also happens to be one of the most popular night markets in town." Malik squeezed his shoulder before turning, getting off the balcony, stopping before he was out of earshot. 

"Eyes on the woods, not in the trees, Altair. Not everyone cuts down trees for kindle." 

 

 

He had gone out to get some supplies for tonight, but by the time he had come back Malik had already disappeared. Where, he had no clue. In all honesty, he didn’t care. Altair glanced around the room to check for any clues, to see if it was his decision to leave or something more sinister, however remote that chance may be. A long shot but in his work, long shots were the safest bet. You didn’t get caught that way. 

But it seemed this was Malik's choice. Maybe he went to Leonardos or went shopping for groceries. Well, whatever the reason it was already too late to stop him, so there wasn’t anything to do besides muse over possible reasons, shoot down those reasons, then lose interest and eventually resign himself to sitting on the couch eating Wheat Thins as he waited for him to come home. 

Altair decided to skip the middleman and go straight to the Wheat Thins. 

And that’s how Malik found him when he came home – sitting on the couch, eating the crackers and watching some dreary reality tv show set in a hospital. The main character reminded him of Malik- handsome in the classic tall, dark and mysterious way, willing to do whatever it took to save a life, and when faced with a double edged sword he would take the option that, surprisingly, followed logic rather than let his emotions let him do 'the right thing' – hypocrisy and backtracking on his own morals that Altair had always believed was simply poor writing, not an actual trait of a human being. 

Altair was wrong. 

He knew he had been wrong since they came out of that restaurant - It was almost cute how Malik thought he had no clue about the wine incident. How he thought that somehow, a highly skilled and paid assassin wouldn’t know that his future target was about to poison a dozen of innocent – more or less, he supposed – people. And Altair wanted to keep him oblivious.  

Not because it was fun to watch him quietly suffer. Which it wasn't, but it didn’t break his heart enough to make him admit that he knew either. He kept quiet because Malik made him curious, and if Malik knew... 

Well, that was what made him _oh so_ curious. 

Altair didn’t know what he would do. 

There's no fun in magic if you know how the magician does it. If you know, it takes away the wonder, and that’s the whole point of going to see a magic show: to be amazed, to be put into _awe_ , to find yourself joyfully ignorant of how one man was extorting your money simply by pulling a rabbit out from a hat.  

Malik was a magician, and Altair was his only audience. He looked forward to what he had lined up next in his little box of tricks. 

"You ate my Wheat Thins?" 

 _W_ _hy am I not surprised_ _?_  

Altair looked back with an almost pitying look, pouting. "I got hungry. And you werent here to feed me. What did you expect me to do, starve?" 

Malik dumped the bag of groceries onto the table with an unimpressed look. "Yes. At least that would answer half of my problems." 

"And what would solve the other half?" 

He could feel Malik's heated glare from behind the sofa. "An unopened box of Wheat Thins." 

He grimaced. "Ooh. Whoopsie." 

Altair received nothing but a sigh in response and gave a small smirk. He hadn't won the argument, but neither had Malik, and instead they had both settled to a standstill. 

 _Curious_. 

The assassin stood, emptying the box of Maliks much desired healthy cardboard into his open mouth and threw the box at his head, quickly hiding the smile that spawned when he hit him right on the forehead and coughing into his hand instead. Malik narrowed his eyes and curled his lips, shaking his head a little. "Oh, thank you, throwing the empty box just makes it so much better. Do you have to be so petty?" 

He gained simply a shrug in return as Altair began to rifle through the plastic bags, examining the contents and giving a low whistle at the little treasure he found. He lifted his prize up with a grin and raised eyebrows, happy to see Maliks back turned so he could speculate verbally about its contents. "Condoms?" 

Malik spun, flushed, stormed over to grab them from his hands but Altair deftly pulling them up and out of his reach before he could manage. "What, got a secret girlfriend I don’t know about? Come on, I bet she's pretty. Or at least she'd have to be. We all know Maliks doesn’t settle for less than perfect - I mean come on, if you don’t fall for the homicidal assassin that shares your apartment, shower, couch, and eats all your Wheat Thins," Altair snorted, letting the box drop into Maliks hands who pressed them to his chest with a glare and backed away, "then by God man, how high _are_ your standards?" 

His roommate looked like he was about to spit. "I _do_ have a social life outside of you and this apartment, you know." 

Altair rolled his eyes. "Yes. The con artist slash misunderstood and brokenhearted painter, the postman with one eye and a dog called Coochie, and the woman by the docks who only hangs out with you because you buy her coffee and compliment her shoes. Oh, can I guess which one you're letting fuck you?" He pressed his hands into a prayer, jumped on his tippy toes and fluttered his eyes to a Malik who was ignoring him as he put away his shopping. "Pretty please?"  

Malik licked his lips as he turned, leant against the bench with crossed arms and an arched brow. "How do you know I don’t top?" 

 _A dare? Or a challenge?_  

Altair finished rummaging, turned his attention to Malik's question instead. "Because if you were banging Tracey, this apartment would smell a whole less like man and more...perfumey." Altair moved away from the table, balling up the empty plastic bag in his fist, liking the way it crackled as it compressed. "If it was your mailman, he wouldn’t wear his wedding ring when he came to deliver your post, which eliminates the possibility if you and him ever having sex entirely. Plus it just makes me shudder just _thinking_ about you two doing-" Malik cut him off with a cough, both eyebrows arched now as he unfolded his arms and placed his hands on his hips. "Okay, fine, but what about Leonardo?" 

He pursed his lips, leaning against the door frame and pretended to think. "Hm...well, that is a possibility. But if you had been nailing him it would have been for a while, so why still the condoms?" 

Malik grinned. He liked the game. Altair knew he would. "Maybe it's recent." 

"Sex in your friendship is too recent to go bareback, too recent to get an STD panel, and yet recent enough that you're buying a whole box of condoms as if you're expecting to use them all. Almost like...you're not expecting to fuck unprotected with someone." Altair looked over to see Malik's reaction, pleasantly surprised to find him nodding in consent. "Fine. You win." 

Altair shrugged, turning and going back to the lounge to continue his tv show. "You should have never tried to lie to me anyway. I already know you don’t top from the night we fucked." He paused for a moment, let it sink in, relishing the stunned silence. 

 _Someone latch the hatches, the storms a blowin' in._  

"We...we did not fuck!" 

 _A_ _nd arr_ _, she be a beauty._  

Altair grinned, hidden as his back was turned to Malik, who was standing quietly stunned in the kitchen after his sudden, almost feminine shriek. "Really? Wow, either I _really_ need to go back to sex ed, or we were really drunk. But I always thought you were meant to stick your-" 

He was cut off as the empty box of Wheat Thins came back to haunt him, bouncing off his head and making him flinch and turn around. Malik's face was beautiful – stark red, an almost comical wide and stammering open mouth, gesturing wildly as words refused to come out. "We...when...we did not...we did not fuck!" This sentence shouted less in an angry tone and now a confused, almost desperate tone, Malik gritting his teeth together and furrowing his face into a frown.  

This was fun. 

"Really? Do you remember _not_ fucking?" Altair made his way back to a steaming Malik, his fists clenched in rage and shaky breaths whistling. "Do you even remember what happened the night we got smashed after the whole kitchen mixup?" 

A flicker of self-doubt. The eye of the storm. 

 _Just what_ _I_ _'_ _m_ _looking for._  

Sullen silence for a few seconds, then Malik looked at his feet. "No." 

A smile of victory.  

He let him stew for a few more seconds then clapped him on the shoulder, making him look up. "We have to go now. And don’t worry, we didn’t have sex." 

 _The worst part of the storm always follows the eye._  

Malik spluttered, pushed him away from him, resuming back to his usual rage now that he knew he had been right all along. "Then why did you- what was even the purpose of that? To just... _taunt_ me?" 

Altair got away and went to the front door, grabbing Malik's jacket and throwing it to him. He caught it, then almost looked surprised that he did, looking at the assassin with almost disbelief. He simply winked back, leaning against the doorframe after he opened the door, crossing his arms as he waited. 

It was when Malik almost shoved past him that he spoke, grabbing his arm to make him stop walking, leaning in to murmur his answer into his ear. "I said that, because now you're going to wonder whether I was lying when I said we fucked, or if I was lying when I said when we didn’t." A small smirk. "And it's going to annoy the _shit_ out of you." 

He left him standing in the doorway as he walked down the hallway, turning around once to see his face, almost laughing. 

Oh, this was _fun_. 

 

 

The car ride had been shared in a sullen and dry silence, only to be broken when the fire decided its embers were hot enough to reignite. 

"I don’t see the point in doing this to me." 

Altair glanced over to Malik after he spoke, taking a right turn into a small suburban network of streets, beginning to pass small whitewashed cottages with flourishing apple trees in every driveway. The kind of neighborhood you would see in a 90's tv show based around a slightly strange, middle class family with a golden retriever and a baby who pulls tricks on people. "Do what to you? I think this is a rather pleasant drive." 

Malik rolled his eyes at that, giving a little huff of distaste, arms folded tight across his chest. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Making me think...you know, that we....fucked." He almost spat the last word away, shrinking into his seat almost to hide from the houses they passed. A permanent frown had burrowed his way onto his features – but then again, that had always been there. It was simply more deeply seated now. Altair gave him no response aside from a breathy laugh, making the frown etch its way deeper. "There is no point. It's just fun." 

His partner sighed and palmed his face, rubbing at his eyes almost to try and stem a non-existent headache. "You're an asshole, you know that, right?" 

"You remind me every day, _love_." 

A little grumble at that, but soon their conversation delved back into silence, a content quiet from Altair and a dry and crackling heat from Malik. Altair could almost hear the gears turning in his head, working out a plan or a clever retort or a witty remark. Soon he received a sigh, Malik sitting upright again. "So what are we doing today?" 

Asking about work. 

Safe. 

 _Boring_. 

Altair turned the car down a smaller road, checking out the windows now for his stop. "Didn’t you read the file? Don’t worry about it anyway, youll be sitting out this one anyway." 

Malik frowned, glanced over to Altair, who pulled into a driveway. "What do you mean? Why are you bringing me along if im not taking part?" 

He stopped the car, looked out through the windshield to make sure they were at the right address before unbuckling his seatbelt and gesturing for Malik to do the same. "Well I wasn’t just going to leave you all on your lonesome back at home was I? That'd be mean." He winked, exited the car, leaving a frowning Malik behind. Altair leant against the car as he waited, eventually hearing the thunk of the car door shutting, the sigh of Malik as he prepared himself for whatever altair would throw at him next.  

He learnt well.  

The house they had pulled into was as obscure and impressionable as they came, a dull white with red roof trimming and a garden chock full of overgrown, poison resistant weeds. Ivy had snuck its way up, curling around the dust covered windows and slowly beginning to swallow the walls. A willow tree provided most of the shade and half of its branches rested on the roof. It was a house that looked, felt desolate and sad, the bright red door as its heart being the only part of the house that seemed well looked after and loved. After looking around to make sure there wasn’t any curious neighbors about Altair locked the car behind him and jogged up the few stairs, knocking on the door and Malik joining him after a few seconds. A heartbeat, then the shuffle of feet and the clicking of locks sounded behind the door, eventually it swinging open with an unhealthy creak and revealing the man who lived here. 

He matched his home in looks and demeanor – scruffy, tangled blond hair and a pitifully grown beard, tired and sad green eyes that examined Altair with a scrutinous glare. A crumpled Game of Thrones t-shirt covered in mustard stains was tucked into striped purple and pink boxers, green socks, boxes upon boxes piled into the hallway with various knicknacks sticking out from the top. Truly the pinnacle of human evolution. 

"James, I assume? And Harrison?" He spoke with a gruff voice of someone who had just woken up, hadn't had coffee, and simply wanted to go back to sleep. Altair nodded and reached into his pocket, glancing up a little before he pulled out his money. "Thomas?". A nod from the blond man. He pulled out his wad of notes, unfolding them and counting out two thousand, handed the money over to Thomas who smiled and tucked it into his pocket. "The uniform's in my wardrobe and my shift starts at nine. Report to Haddock at nine twenty, you get in the office at nine forty, out by ten thirty. I'll be home by two tomorrow morning. Avoid contact with Frank because he'll know you're not me. Don’t go into my study." With this quick burst of sentences he pushed past the pairing, nodding to Malik, running a hand through his hair before getting into his own shabby car and screeching out of the driveway.  

What a charming young man. 

"What a charming guy." Malik muttered, making Altair snort as he practically spoke his thoughts aloud, Malik entering the home and turning to face him. "You never told me you had that much money. How come he gets paid and I don’t?" 

Altair rolled his eyes and came inside, closing the door behind him, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the coat hook. "I pay you with the wonderful pleasure of my company. Oh, and by not killing you. I can do that four different ways with just my thumb." He snickered and shuffled past Malik, the man looking less than impressed but following him anyway. 

One thing he loved about Malik. His tolerance for Altair's bullshit.  

Altair sat himself down on one of the couches in Thomas's living room, feeling the cheap leather and rusted springs groan beneath him. The lounge matched the rest of this sad, little house – faded cream wallpaper, dirty blue carpet, uncleaned dishes and empty pizza boxes strewn on every surface and clothes there to match. A few pictures on the walls, all of happier times, some with a woman's face torn from the image. A small tv with a broken screen that was currently playing a rerun of _Family Guy._ Malik came into the room after taking his own jacket off and sat down on the other armchair, pooching air from his lips as he looked around the room and eventually having his gaze rest on Altair.  

"You know, we could have sex right now. At least that would end the torment of knowing whether we had sex or not. His bedrooms just to the left." Altair met Malik's eyes as he grinned, loving the frown suddenly being replaced with a look of surprise. Then anger. Then surprise again, then confusion. 

Malik was a bouquet of emotion, and how Altair loved it. 

"I'm good, thanks. I think I'd get an STD just from sitting on the toilet." 

Altair arched his brows. "So you don’t want to fuck here, but you'd be fine with having sex with me in general?" 

Malik laughed at that. "Never said that." 

"But you _implied_ it." 

"I should buy you a trampoline if you love jumping to conclusions that much." 

They both laughed at that, Altair palming his face. "I'd love that, actually. Please buy me a trampoline." 

"Yeah, sure, right after we have sex on my kitchen table." 

"Challenge accepted, Malik." 

He gained nothing from that except a snort and a brief, blissful second of something warm he didn’t have the pleasure of experiencing a lot. At least, not in his job. 

Happiness isn't one of the emotions a professional assassin would prefer to have during a job. 

 

It had begun to rain. 

It was only seven twenty, and they still sat in the longue, barely having moved since they first arrived in Thomas's house. Altair had gone out for a brief period to buy some Chinese for their dinner, and those empty boxes had joined his pile of food packages on the table. They had marathoned some old tv shows that was on the tv until the power had suddenly flickered, then gone out entirely – it seemed the storm had taken out the whole block because their street was suddenly shrouded in darkness. The candles Malik had managed to find now flickered at their feet, the safest place to be, and they sat in quiet. Altair watched the rain trickle down the windows, the wind blow in the trees outside, taking in the brief hours he got of _silence_ that were so rare in his life.  

Almost predictably, Malik broke the quiet. 

"Tell me a story." 

He glanced over to Malik, a slightly puzzled look on his face, Malik shrugging and looking over to him. 

"We're going to be waiting here for over an hour, and making smalltalk for that long is going to kill me. You're foreign, and you’re an assassin. Tell me an interesting story...something from your culture, or when you killed someone in a funny way, or something." 

He pursed his lips and looked to his lap, thinking about the request, probing his mind for simply anything. An excuse, a formidable lie, a story that Malik wouldn't hate but wouldn’t find interesting enough to keep listening. A story would do.  

But what story? 

Eventually he sighed and settled back more comfortably in the seat, linking his fingers over his lap and looking out into the street to remember more clearly. "My mother died when I was born, and my father was a drunken workaholic, so I grew up with a nanny as both of my parents. Her name was Amita, lovely Spanish woman, helped me to learn English through homework and Spanish through chores. I played with her children on weekend afternoons, and helped her to cook dinner Sunday nights. I loved that woman more than my father, sometimes." He smiled a little, remembering, almost missing her. Sometimes he wondered if she was still alive...she had only been sixty when he left home. Maybe her children were the ones taking care of her now. 

"She spent every second night at our house, in the room next to mine. Because she slept so close to me she would wake up whenever I had a nightmare- which was often as I wasn’t a very...close minded child. She'd be there when I woke up kicking and screaming, and tell me stories to get me back to sleep. All kinds. Ones from her own childhood, Spanish ones, ones from books I was too young to have read, sometimes even ones she made up herself. Anita could have written books, if she had the mind to. Too bad she spent all her hours looking after me." 

Altair took a break, glancing over to Malik, trying not to laugh at his face. He had closed his eyes and rested his head back, hands linked behind his head as he listened. Relaxed. Calm. 

It was nice. 

"My favorite story...i think the one that really stuck with me was the one she told just before Christmas. She never told me if she made it up or not. I don’t know why it's remained with me all these years... I guess it was just one of those things you never really forget. I can't remember the name of it though...that's pretty stupid, right? " 

Taking a breath, settling in as he tried to remember the details. 

"Before you or I were born, before politics and buildings and rivers or forests there was nothing. Then there was a man, and that man became a God, and he could shift and move and weave things to whatever shape he wanted. Soon, he drew weary of the endless nothing that he lived in. So he made a little home, a little planet surrounded just like him by the black nothing, and he watched it change with the winds he blew and he watched it grow as he pushed the ground with his fingers. He watched the sands that covered his earth shift and change and build little mountains, tinted blue by the color of the never changing sky that he knit with his fabric. And soon, he again grew bored of the empty desert, and he yearned again for something knew. So he decided to create a woman. 

He molded her body from the sand that ran across his earth in dunes and great dry rivers, he wove her hair from the nothing that filled his skies, and he forged her eyes from the great molten heart of his earth, and when he knew she was perfect he set her down on his world for him to watch her play. He watched her wake, and he watched her wander and breathe and sleep and dream, and he named her Ava. 

Ava wandered his earth for two nights, before her feet grew tired and she became cold, as she had no sun or fire to heat her bones. So she asked her God for warmth, and he crafted the sun that rose and fell each day and stained the once blue sky a homely golden. All he asked in return was for her never look to the sun when it was in the sky, for the sun was so close and bright it would scorch her beauty. Ava agreed and continued to wander the dunes for another twenty days, then twenty nights, before she too grew weary of the dark sky and the barren wasteland that she called her home. 

So she asked her God for beauty, and he asked her for a lock of her beautiful hair. So she tore a lock of her hair and gave it to him, and in return he lit up the sky with stars, each more beautiful than the last. And every time a star came close to matching Avas beauty he tore it down and sent it crashing from the heavens, creating shooting stars. And so her dark sky was soon as beautiful as she wished, but Ava craved more. 

She then asked her God for a paintbrush, and he agreed this time too, only wishing in return for her unconditional love; for by now he had fallen in love with his creation and could not live to see anyone else spoil her. She agreed, thinking not much of it, and was soon given her prize. 

Ava painted the horizon where the sun went to sleep and woke, colored it with orange and red and sometimes with pink or a purple. She drew deep rivers of rushing blue and green, forests flourished at the tip of her brush, she painted clothes for herself and a house, she painted cats and dogs and lions and horses, all while her God fell more deeply and madly in love with her. The once dry and barren desert he had created was now flourish with her creations, and the planet was now a perfect love child." 

Altair paused for a moment to take a breath, and to make sure Malik wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t - if anything he seemed enthralled.  

Like Altair had been twenty years ago. 

"But Ava grew greedy. She realized she could demand anything of her God, for he was in love with her, and could do anything to make her happy. So she kept asking for gifts from him, each time giving him a small part of herself for him to treasure. She asked for luxuries, and he gave her wine and furs and paper to etch on novels, and in return she gave him her breast. She asked for wealth and he gave her diamonds, gold and rubies, and in return she gave him the ring finger on her left hand.  

Soon, Ava wanted something he could not grant her. She wanted his power, to craft worlds like him, to watch people play. She decided that if he was ever going to give her his power, she would have to marry him and make him feel like she loved her back. So she asked for a child, and offered her body to him, and he was so deeply in love with her that he accepted. The God came down in the form of a man and took her hand, crafted a beautiful ring from the stars he made for her, and soon lay with her just as she had wanted. 

In the morning, when they woke, she told him that she was bearing his child. Ava demanded that, since they were now bound by child and marriage, that he grant her his powers so they could create worlds together. But even now He was hesitant, until she threatened him with killing their child, so He decided he would give her his power. 

Once she realized He had done so, and she was just as powerful has him, she also realized that she no longer needed her God for anything. So when his back was turned she took a knife from their table, and slit his throat. Ava was now alone. Enthralled by her newfound power and control, she believed that she could defeat anything and needed to abide by no more rules anymore. So she ran outside of her home and turned her face to the sky, to look at the sun that he had barred her from ever doing so, believing that she was far more powerful than a simple sun. 

But though Ava was powerful, she was not spared from any harm. The sun was so bright that it scorched her eyes and face, and she fell to the ground, blinded and scarred by his gift to her. No longer was she beautiful and perfect, her eyes a pure white instead of the deep golden he had crafted, and blind and humbled she stood again. So she bound her face, and took to the skies that her Lover had once lived in, and lay there in eternal rest and so Ava became the moon. And that’s why when the sun comes behind the moon on clear nights the moon goes red, because Ava is bleeding from her wounds, and when she cries her tears come down in the form of rain. " 

Altair fell silent, his story finished, the only sound now the rain pattering on the roof and their steady breathing. He had almost thought Malik had fallen asleep before he saw his white teeth reflecting the street lights, revealing themselves in a smile that grew wider every second. 

Altair liked it when he smiled. It softened his face and features, made him look like a man that someone could learn to love and marry and have children, a family with, made him look like someone he wasn’t. His smile granted Altair a small glimpse into what Malik _could_ have been. 

He didn’t know which Malik he would have preferred. 

"That’s...that's a nice story. Thank you." 

 _Thank you...?_  

Altair glanced back over at Malik, his turn to frown now, utterly confused and quite frankly concerned. Malik _never_ said thank you –hell, he never even said _please_. What the hell had just happened? In the space of half an hour, he'd gone from the Malik he had grown to- the Mailk he was used to, so someone he could almost barely recognize. Smiling. Saying thank you. 

Altair decided to use this to its full advantage. 

"You're welcome. You can pay me back with sex." 

And _theres_ the frown. "Thanks for ruining the moment. You're disgusting." 

Altair snorted in return. "Whatever you say, _honey_." 

They returned to their silence, watching the rain trickle down the windows and form puddles in the streets, a silence in which Altair could tell that _something_ had shifted but not quite knowing what. 

 

It was an easy job. 

Malik was waiting in the car for him to finish, hidden in a little alleyway behind the station. Hed only take an hour, at most, and most of that would be waiting for the opportunity to get in where he wanted. 

"Afternoon, sarge." Altair saluted to one of the officers passing by as he mopped the floors, them nodding in return, going back to discuss the night's plans soon after with heads bowed and hats too big for their heads. He was close to the office, five more minutes... 

His target was currently giving a motivational speech in classrooms downstairs to all of his recruits. His speeches would finish at ten, then hed go to his office to finish paperwork for the day, then go home. Or, he _would_ go home, when in reality the only way he would leave his office tonight would be in a body bag. Whoops. 

For weeks, Thomas had been loosening the bookshelf behind Williams – the target, though Altair preferred to not know their names – desk, just enough each time so it was growing slowly but only became noticeable recently. The repairman was due in tomorrow, but it would be too late by then. All Altair needed was a few extra books, a few more turns of those loose screws, a good grip of how long it'd take for the shelf to fall and when Williams would be in his office, and he'd be done. 

Who knew High School physics would actually come in handy in his everyday life? 

He had to admit he was almost proud of this plan. There was no way anyone could ever think this was done purposely- why would someone, if they were to murder the chief of police, spend weeks loosening a bookshelf that was _just_ heavy enough to crush someone when he could simply shoot, poison, or beat him? It was perfect. Foolproof.  

Altair made his way into the office, clicking the door behind him, quickly pulling off this stupid hat he had to wear with the janitors uniform and throwing it in the buckets of water that he lugged behind him. Leaving them by the door, going to the shelf and leaning it forward a little, pulling the screwdriver from his pants pocket. A few more twists of the screws...there. 

Add a few more books to the shelf for extra weight, and humorous purposes. _As I lay dying_ by William Faulkner? A perfect book for a perfect plan. Even their names were the same. It was fate, he swore. 

He was finished within five minutes, and had two to spare, so he went through his drawers out of boredom. 'Borrowed' his cigarettes. Thought twice about it. Put them back, slightly disappointed. Ate some of the chips from the open packet in the third drawer down.  

Seven minutes over, time to leave.  

Altair grabbed his buckets and left the office, smiling and nodding to the two trainees that passed, going down to the changing rooms to get back into his normal clothes. Tucking the uniform under his arm Altair signed out, breathing in the cold air as he stepped outside, flinching suddenly as he remembered the rain which soon came down heavy on his face and front. 

And almost perfect plan. It would have been better if it hadn't rained. 

It took him ten seconds to muster the courage to walk out into the rain. Fourty seconds to walk to the alleyway where Malik sat in the car. Five seconds to see the unknown man leaning against the window of the car, hands inside the vehicle and pressed against Malik's neck. Three seconds to draw his gun, two to aim, one to fire into his leg. Five to run over, three to check if Malik was alright, then ten to realize he'd been knocked to the ground and was being punched in the face by the man.  

He stopped counting after that.  

Altair grabbed the fist that game down to strike him a second time, twisting his arm so the man cried out, shoving him off him and up to press him against the wall. Should have pressed him backward – the man kicked him in the groin and made his grip weaken, letting him escape from his grip and push away. He didn’t run, surprisingly. Instead he did what, whenever this happened – which was more often than you'd think – Altair hated. The click of the slide and the shine of the streetlight on the pocketknife was oh too familiar.  

Too bad for this guy, he supposed.  

He hurt Malik and punched him in the face. He had a weapon. He was trying to hurt or kill them. 

He deserved the two shots in the chest he received the second after he pulled the knife. 

Altair flinched at the blood suddenly on his face, something he had never quite gotten used to despite the numerous times. He lowered the gun and watched the man stumble, then fall to the ground almost in slow motion, watching him there for a few heartbeats to make sure. 

To make sure he was dead. 

Habits die hard.  

It was when he suddenly felt the rain still pouring on his face, heard the cars still passing by, felt the wetness seeping into his shoes that he remembered what he had been doing. He remembered the car behind him that had Malik sitting in it.  

Fuck.  

Altair spun on his heel and made his way to the car as quick as physically possible, opening the car door where Malik was and bending down. He didn’t know what he expected – rage, tears, even at the longest shot a hug or another thank you. He had expected Malik to be...Malik. But he wasn’t. 

For the first time in a long time, Altair was afraid. 

"Malik? Malik, are you okay?" He knelt on the edge of the seat, rain pouring down his spine and back and making him shiver, eyes grazing over the flourishing bruises around his neck. He didn’t answer, simply sat there, face as white as the sheets on his bed and hands that clutched his phone in his lap trembling. Eyes not even looking at Altair, simply staring out into the alleyway, lips slightly parted as he breathed in shaky and uneven breaths.  

 _Fuck_. 

Altair pressed his lips together and got away, closing the car door, getting around the other side and getting into the driver's seat next to Malik. Closing the door behind him he leant over, hands taking Malik, intertwining their fingers together and feeling how soft Malik's hands were compared to his. Perfect, soft hands, with clean and well taken care of nails. Altair took their hands and held them, making Malik's gaze shift down to his lap where their hands rested tangled. "Malik? Malik, please say something. I need to know if..." 

 _If_ _you're_ _okay._  

"I need to know if your vocal cords or throat is damaged in any way." 

Malik licked his lips, remained silent for a few more _agonizing_ seconds before finally nodding. "He...he just, he just wanted my m-money, I didn’t...didn't think he'd.." Said in disbelief, voice much like his hands trembling, but no threat of tears yet. Altair didn’t think there would be. Malik wouldn’t cry. 

Malik _coul_ _dn_ _’t_ cry. 

"Malik? Hey, hey Malik, listen to me – look at me, alright?" Altair moved his hands away, leaned in closer so he could touch and take his cheek, making Malik shift his head and look at him with those brown eyes that were now, for the first time...empty. That’s how Altair could describe them. There want any anger, or fear, or sadness or grief or nothing...just emptiness. 

Altair felt like he'd been shot right in the chest.  

"Malik, I promise, I _promise_ alright, I am _never_ going to let that happen again, okay? I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. I'm never going to let anyone fucking _touch_ you, or hurt you, ever again okay? I promise. I promise you." His thumb was slightly caressing Malik's cheek, _desperate_ for him to listen and to hear his words and to recognize that this was a genuine promise. That he wouldn’t let anyone fucking touch him. Malik was...his, and no one was ever going to hurt him.  

He didn’t know who leaned in first. They were both so close that they barely needed to move forward to kiss, Altair using his hand on his cheek to tilt Malik's head into it and closing his eyes the second he realized what was going on. It was a soft, slow, lingering kiss, one that he breathed into and, against what his mind was screaming at him, didn’t want to break.  

Then he realized what he was doing. And he realized that, once Malik had recovered from everything that had just happened, he would most likely make Altair deaf by screaming at him for taking advantage of him while he was vulnerable. 

Because that’s what was going on right? Thats what he was doing?

Simply...taking advantage. He didn’t know if Malik had leaned in as well.  

So he got away quickly, getting his hands off him and sitting back in the driver's seat, avoiding Malik's eyes and flushed face and fingers before on his cheek now fumbling to start the car and drive away. The silence that now lay between them was now heavy, pregnant with tension and words aching to be voiced but with no courage to be sounded.  

Neither of them spoke on the way home.  

And neither of them spoke when they got home. 

And both of them lay awake in bed for many hours after they had gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a fun chapter from Altairs point of view, just to shake it up a little. :D
> 
> Many, many apologies for the huge time this chapter took me - exams, study, and personal life really got the better of me this time. I'll try to be better in the future, i promise ! Hopefully this longer than usual chapter and exciting stuff ( wink wink ) makes up for it. ( Even though a huge part of the story is nothing but another story that has absolutely nothing to do with the plot at all )
> 
> Again, i thank you all for your wonderful comments and all of the kudos, and i apologize for being such an ass that i hardly ever reply to your comments. They're just so wonderful and i don't know how to respond and aaaaaaaa
> 
> Thank you again! See you guys in the next installment!


	10. Love is...complicated.

Malik's first kiss had been when he was sixteen, behind the dumpsters at a Dunkin' Donuts. 

It had been a drunken game of truth or dare, and he had gotten picked to make out with one of the Jocks that went to some fancy private school in the middle of town. He remembered every detail – the way his hands had shook and sweat with nervousness, the moment of panic before the kiss itself as he forgot what to do, his rough hands sneaking up his shirt as he pressed him against the cold concrete wall and the feeling of having someone else's tongue in his mouth. For weeks afterwards he couldn't stop thinking about it, and the jock, until he ran across him in the mall a few months later. 

Malik learnt quickly that kisses meant nothing. The jock didn’t even remember his name – while Malik had been agonizing about him for weeks, thinking about him and everything it did and what it meant. It was pointless, he soon learnt. It was pointless because It hadn't meant anything to him like it had to Malik. Kissing was kissing - It never meant anything unless you were kissing someone that you truly cared about. 

So, fuck. Because now was truly confused about what happened last night. 

Because the night that Altair had taken the solo mission, the night that he had nearly been robbed, the night that Altair had saved him and shot that man and _kissed_ him, last night, was replaying in his mind over and over again just like his first. How the shots sounded in the cramped space of that alleyway. The thunk as metal struck and sunk into bone and flesh, the car door slamming shut and oh so importantly, the _little_ details, the details about _Altair_ that were the ones that his brain focused on the most. 

The way his voice was absolutely drenched in concern, desperation, even fear. How his golden eyes had flickered like candlelight in the dark, catching the streetlights glow, and how Malik was the sole attention of those luminous orbs. His fingers interlaced with Maliks own, soft skin against rough and torn, Malik feeling each little scar that traced his way along the palms. How close they had been before he leant in and their lips met; Altairs breath tasting warm and sweet just like his lips and _oh those lips._ Everything he'd ever dreamt of. Merely the touch enough to make Maliks mind grow blank and allow himself to be tricked into his carefully laid honey trap, constantly reminding him how it felt to kiss him, how the scar was jagged and a deep crevice in the mountains of his lips, how they had simply _fell_ into one another and how the kiss had seemed to go on forever while it lasted but had been too short when it was broken. 

Malik didn’t want to remember. He didn't want to have this scene replayed over and over in his head, to constantly feel those lips on his and have them haunt his dreams, to miss them. Because that kiss had opened and shut far too many doors of opportunity in Maliks once comfortable villa, and now the cold wind of unfamiliarity and fear was blowing in. Altair had gained a skeleton key to Maliks heart and was running rampant, unforgiving, and uncaring, not giving a shit about the consequences because they only affected Malik and not the assassin himself. 

But he would not allow this. 

He didn’t care about Altair. He didn’t. Couldn’t. _Wouldn't._ Malik did not care about Altair, because Altair was an egotistical, smug, arrogant, homicidal serial killer who cared for no one but himself and his own safety. He was a man impossible to care about and, at the very least, was a man that evidently _didn't_ want to be cared about; he pushed away all signs of affection or compassion or humanity directed towards him, reflected them with snide and sarcastic remarks, and the only time Malik had ever seen any display of emotion it had been either rage or pride. 

 _And Happiness_ _,_ _an_ _d concern, and_ _nostalgia_ _and worry_ _. Don’t lie to yourself._  

He wasn’t. 

Altair was an asshole, and Malik did not deserve to lose any sleep over him. 

And, yet, he found himself unable to delve into any form of sleep. Instead he simply tossed and turned in his bed, staring to the ceiling and trying to think of anything except Altair, and ultimately failing. It was a relentless, tormentous cycle – he would find his thoughts drifting, and then he would snap back to attention and try to turn his mind elsewhere, only to end up again drifting and hating himself. Certain hours seemed to dictate the depth of the hole he was digging – as each hour passed his thoughts towards Altair shifted and changed, some radical differences to soft and subtle ones, and he dug his hole a few inches deeper. His fury of how Altair had taken advantage of him while he had been in such an emotionally vulnerable state. His confusion at why he had pulled back, why Altair had been the one to first break the kiss, at why he kissed him in the first place. His sadness at the missed opportunity of Altair kissing him again. 

At one point, at the worst part of his night, Malik found himself thinking about how good he had looked in the outfit he wore when they went to the stripclub and how he would look better out of it. About how his hands felt around his waist. About how Malik – however much his head screamed heated words at him for this – wanted to feel his lips places other than his cheek. He wanted Altairs lips on his neck, his torso, trailing down and he imagined having, _wanting_ his hands running hot all over his body and how Malik would _let_ him ruin and defile him. He imagined scenarios involving Altair that would have made his father throw fits but instead, unexpectedly and rather pitifully, made Malik grow hard and have to sneak out to the bathroom to have one of the quietest and quickest jerk off sessions of his life. He had returned to bed, cheeks blushed and full of shame, crawling back between the sheets and screaming into a pillow to get all of pent up rage, frustration, and sounds he had been muffling to keep Altair asleep moments before away. 

This endless loop of self-hatred and unwelcome thoughts continued for hours, until he eventually gained the courage to roll out of misery and bed around nine. For a good twenty minutes he simply sat on the edge, hands white as he clenched the sheets beneath him and tried to force himself to move. 

 _Its_ _just Altair._  

 _He'll be sitting, eating toast and drinking coffee at his table like normal. Nothing has changed. You were simply emotionally compromised and Altair took advantage of you. Simple as that._  

As if anything in his life was simple anymore. 

Eventually Malik sighed, rubbed at his eyes and stood, throwing on crumpled clothing and running a hand through his hair in front of the mirror to try and tidy the bed-raggled mess. Taking a breath to steady himself before he opened his bedroom door, making his way to the lounge with quick and silent steps, heartbeat racing as each second passed and beginning to sweat. 

He needn't have worried.  

Altair didnt bother to look up when he came into the room, reading the newspaper and sipping from his mug. Malik stood for a while, watching him drink his coffee and sit there so...naturally. Like nothing had happened last night. Like nothing had changed. 

 _Because nothing has._  

He stood there until he noticed him and looked up, nodding in good morning but eyes not leaving Maliks after he greeted him in return. Instead they stood, attention focus on one another and words hanging between them but silence only being spoken instead. Something needed to be said, someone needed to break away the heavy tension that hung between them and Malik knew that it had to be him. 

"Who are we doing today?" 

He could have sworn he saw a small flicker of a smile pass over Altairs lips but it was quickly hidden as he raised the mug again and drank, eyes dragging themselves away from Maliks and turning back to the newspaper. "A man called [Majd Addin](http://assassinscreed.wikia.com/wiki/Majd_Addin), but it doesn’t matter. You're not going anyway." 

"Majd Addin? Isn't he a convict charged with the death sentence? What are we doing going to go kill someone who's already – wait, what do you mean I'm not going?" 

Altair put down the newspaper and sighed, pressing his face into his hands, but giving no response. What was that supposed to mean? Did Altair think he was no longer capable of coming with him on any trips anymore – did he think that, after one bad experience, he was incompetent and useless? At this idea Malik flushed, clenching his hands at his sides. "Im _fine_ , Altair. It was one accident and I reacted -" 

He cut him off with a wave of his hand and a frown. "Its not a mission I was planning to take you on anyway, and after last night my decision has never been more solid. This one is nothing compared to whats happened before, Malik, you wouldn’t be able to-" 

"Bullshit!" It was Maliks turn to cut him off now, stepping closer, Altair's frown deepening. "Youre just not taking me because of what happened last night! I'm fucking _fine_ Altair, I can handle whatever you-" 

"Well evidently you _cant_ , can you?" Altair stood, slamming his fists on the table, his frown now twisting his face into a rage that nearly Matched Maliks own. "Especially not after that display last night! Im just trying to fucking protect you!" 

Malik let out a bitter laugh. "Oh yeah, real good job protecting me there, shooting a man barely seconds before he was going to fucking stab me. You know if you really wanted to fucking protect me, you'd just get out of my life! I was perfectly fine before you came along! Thanks an absolute bunch! Should I send the flowers to your address or give them personally?" 

"Oh, as if living paycheck to paycheck carting around drunkards for the rest of your days was a life to be jealous of. I may have brought danger to you but at least I was saving you from yourself, and now I'm just trying to protect you from the things that I _know_ you cant handle." 

He raised his hands In a surrendering stance, snorted. "Oh, thank you _so_ much for giving me the opportunity to come along and help you murder people. Because id much rather hang out with a _serial killer_ than-" 

He had uttered the forbidden words.  

Within seconds Altair was upon him, had him pressed against the wall with his hands pressed to his neck in an all too familiar way and faces inches apart. Malik could almost _feel_ the heat, the fury radiating from him, both of their hearts and breath fast but Maliks in fear now and Altairs in rage.  

"I am not a _serial killer_!" 

These words shouted, _spat_ into Maliks face, his golden eyes now ablaze with fire and something that Malik could not quite place but sent a deep shudder through his body. He paused for a moment, pressed his lips together and his hands tighter against Maliks neck, making him cough. "Do not connect me with something that you can so easily discard as sinful, or evil, or wrong when you know by now that I am far from that. You just _want_ me to be wrong so you can hold yourself higher than me in moral superiority. But at least I am honest about the fact that what I do can be disgusting sometimes, rather than hide behind a façade of lies to cover my ass and pretend that I am morally _right_ , Malik." 

A moment of silence as Altair gained his breath again and Malik took in his words, unable to comprehend them now as fear was overriding his every other senses. Hoping he didn’t say anything else stupid but too late. Parting his lips to speak. "I will always be morally above a person who kills people for a living, Altair, and would rather live a boring and safe life than one entangled with the likes of you." He whispered, almost with a cocky smirk, immediately regretting the words. There would be hell to pay for that, he was sure of- 

"Then why'd you kiss me?" 

He had not been... 

What? 

Maliks mouth drifted open, stuttering something incomprehensible, cheeks flushed now with confusion rather than anger, Altairs smug and expectant face with a brow arched simply aching to be punched or slapped. "I...i did not...i did not kiss-" 

Their second kiss was full of teeth and more of an angry crash of lips than a proper kiss, but Malik loved it all the same. 

He didn’t know if Altair had meant it to shut him up or more to prove a point, but it took Malik a few seconds to realize what was even going on, how the hand pressing against his neck had moved to sneak around it and cup his nape, drawing Malik into his body, and how his other one was now latched to his hip. For a few precious, sweet moments, Malik let him kiss him- before he came to his senses and bit down harsh on Altairs lower lip. 

"Get, get away from me you...perverted psychopath!" He jerked away from the pain and Malik pushed him off, Altairs fingers going to his lips to feel the mark he had left there and coming away bloody. Stumbling to the door and grabbing his jacket, breathing hard, looking back to see the assassin simply standing there unmoving and staring at his bloody hand as if it was foreign.   
"Don't...dont ever do that again." Malik said with a hiss, Altair finally glancing up at him, letting him relish in the look of confusion and pain that overlaid the anger that still burned in the mans eyes. 

He stormed out of his apartment and slammed the door behind him, making his way to the elevator on shaky legs and stabbing at the floor button. He had expected - and soon heard - a click and the sound of an apartment door opening, grinding his teeth and swinging on his heels to glare at Altair and stop him from following. He stood in the doorway, wiping away blood from his mouth, frown back in place but less heated than before. "You kissed back the first time!" 

"I did not!" 

"You did!" 

They would have stood there shouting at each other like a couple of toddlers for hours had it not been the arrival of the elevator, Malik relieved to finally get an escape and flipping Altair off as a final goodbye.  

"You're an asshole, Malik! You lie to yourself and blame others for your own faults and now you're running away from your problems instead of facing them like a fucking coward!" Altair shouted after him, Malik taking a deep breath but finding the bait just too irresistible to not retort. He leant back, hand pressed to the elevator doors to keep them from closing.  

"I may be an asshole, but im okay with running away from my problems if my problems include a homicidal _assassin_ who's high on his own hubris and has a crazed, perverted sexual fantasy about me, and who's only outlet of sexual pleasure is either killing someone or taking advantage of emotionally vulnerable people by kissing them. Now go save me two minutes and fuck a pillow, its probably the only thing that would appreciate you sticking your shrunken dick in it anyway." 

And with that, he leant back into the elevator, let the doors close and fall back into the smooth background jazz that played as he took the trip downwards. 

 

He didn’t know how he felt.  

Malik had taken the car and was now driving around town, unsure of his destination, his only plan now to waste gas and try and get his thoughts in order. 

Altair kissing him had been...he didn’t know. He knew how he wanted to feel, and he knew that what he wanted was different from what he was stuck with. He wanted to hate him, to despise every inch of his being and to want him out of his life as fast as possible. Malik wanted to be relieved at every opportunity he had to get away from that life and to long for the end of this two-week torture trip. 

But he felt none of that.  

As much as he hated to admit it, Altair had been...right. His life _had_ been boring until he had come along. His life _was_ going nowhere – he had even admitted it to himself barely hours before he had met Altair, so why was it so difficult to admit now? Was it because he didn’t _want_ Altair to be right, because if Altair was right, it meant that everything else he said was right? 

 _Did_ he kiss Altair back last night? 

No. He was being stupid. Altair had gotten too embedded in his mind, making him come up with stupid ideas and read too much into simple actions and words. He was nothing but a bad influence on him, and the only one here right was himself.  

But he didn’t _know_. 

And that’s what was itching at him. 

Which one of them was right? How would he know when he was already so heavily bias towards himself that his own opinion couldn’t be trusted? 

Malik needed a middleman. A neutral party. Someone who could listen to everything and not favor one argument.  

He knew just where to find one. 

 

"Leonardo? Leonardo, I need your help. Open the door." 

He couldn’t hear any noises coming from the apartment, but he knew the artist was home. Leonardo's car was parked out front and there was light seeping from underneath the door, so Malik knocked again, pressing his ear to the door and frowning. 

Giggles. Hushed whispers.  

Oh God no. Spare him the mercy. 

Malik pulled back as the door was jerked open, but only partially, not revealing the whole hallway but simply the part of the wall that Leonardo was pressed against. His face was flushed and lengthy blonde hair a mess, making Malik's frown deepen and stifle a long suffering sigh. "Malik! My friend! Could we possibly-" He was cut off, Malik worst nightmare suddenly made an appearance; kissing, biting his friend's neck and hands encircling his waist to drag Leo back into the lounge with a whine. 

Ezio. 

"C-could we -Ezio, _stop_ \- could we possibly do this another time?" Leonardo said between breaths, grinning foolishly and wide, hitting Ezio's back with a folded up newspaper to try, unsuccessfully, to get him back off. "As you can s-see, I'm having some...I'm busy." A small chuckle from Ezio who winked to Malik, making him curl his lips in disgust.  

It was barely one in the afternoon, for fuck's sake. 

"I'm having relationship issues." 

 _Go eat a pickled dick_ _, Ezio._  

Malik had pulled his trump card, said the words that would make Leonardo drop everything. The man had an unhealthy obsession with Malik's love life – he couldn’t count a number of times he had tried to set him up with one of his poncey, arty and stick-up-the-ass friends – and whenever even the slightest hint of something romantic from someone else came his way, Leonardo latched onto it as desperate as an alcoholic with booze. Sure, it was annoying some of the time _( oh who was he kidding, it was annoying most_ _of the time )_ but it gave him the one-up on Ezio every time. 

And _oh_ how the Italian hated that.  

As Malik predicted Leonardo immediately shoved Ezio away, making Malik hide his snort as he heard the curse and crash as the man tripped over something. Ignoring this Leo pulled the door open and gestured for Malik to come in, and he came in with a smile, secretly throwing the finger to Ezio on the floor who simply glared in return and stifled a growl. He made his way to the lounge and sat himself down, Leo following after in short, excited steps, Ezio trailing behind him like a wounded puppy and after shooting a sharp look to him he whimpered his way back to their bedroom.  

"So! Tell me, Malik! Who are these issues with? That handsome and brooding man you brought in the other day? Or perhaps someone new? I've noticed your new neighbor above your flat is quite striking-" 

Malik couldn’t help but give a little laugh and cut Leonardo off, mood immediately brightening. Leonardo, even with the simplest and most mundane of conversations, always somehow managed to make even the foulest of moods improve. "Its Altair, Leonardo." 

His friend clasped his hands together and his grin widened. "Oh, good! I could tell he liked you. Whats the problem? Horrible mother in law? Long hours at work?" He leant in a little, hid his mouth behind his hand, raising his eyes in a comical look. "Is he...bad in bed?" Leo said in a hushed whisper, grinning after, making Malik roll his eyes. 

"We're not even together, Leonardo. Its just...his work, its complicated, and the other night-" 

Ezio cut him off with his reappearance, drinking from an opened can of beer, seating himself down next to Leo and wrapping his arm around his shoulders. "Killing people cant be too complicated, can it? Being too much of a wuss about death is your issue, Malik, not Altairs. Sort it out. Get some new towels or whatever It is you do to relax." 

Malik sat speechless.  

It took all of his effort to keep his jaw from coming loose in shock, Leonardo looking as surprised as he was. "You...how? How do you know about – you haven't even met him!" He spluttered.  

The Italian smirked and bathed in Malik's rare, shocked silence. He didn’t answer and instead shrugged. It was only when Leonardo shoved and prodded him into talking that he deigned to reply, following after a long and deep sigh. "I work for him. So does Leonardo. How else do you think Leonardo can afford this apartment? Fake ids, papers, all that lot don’t come cheap you know, and Leo here is the best in the game." He kissed his cheek and Malik stomach churned. "He creates, I supply. Altair has been a long time customer." 

"I cannot believe you did not know, Malik - I thought he had told you and that’s why you came to my-" 

"We came to your apartment because we had the day off, and im your friend!" He burst out. He hung his head in his hands and moaned, closing off the outside world, head aching and not knowing what was real anymore. "He never told me...oh God, what else hasn’t he told me? Or lied about? Fuck me..." 

How could his life have flipped so suddenly? Everything he had ever known, everything he had ever thought or believed to be true was suddenly nothing but lies or a cover for something darker. Leonardo and Ezio, working for an assassin's guild. Corruption among his own ciy – in restaurants no less, or expensive apartment buildings. Within a week his whole life, viewpoint, even morals had changed, all because of Altair. 

Fucking Altair.  

"I can't believe I kissed that asshole..." He murmured his thoughts aloud into his palms and pressed his fingers to his temples, trying to soothe the blossoming headache. It was only when the soft _smuck_ of lips parting and the sudden outburst of hysterical, ear grating laughter sounded that he looked up and realized he had spoken those words aloud.

It was almost comical. Ezio was clutching his sides with his head thrown back as he laughed and laughed, face red from lack of air and tears being squeezed through pressed eyes. Leonardo simply sat, mouth hanging open like Malik's had threatened to moments before and had a glint in his eye that he dreaded. A soft smile that was beginning to turn up the corners of his lips and hands that clung to his knees beginning to clench white in excitement. 

 _Well, this is what you wanted, right?_  

"You kissed him? You kissed him! Really? What was it like – why? How? When? Last night, yes? Did he kiss you back, or-" 

Malik waved his hands to get Leo to stop the instant flow of questions from his mouth, ignoring the still continuous laughter from Ezio. "It was just a once off thing. I was getting mugged, and Altair...Altair saved me, and I wasn’t in the best of mindsets. Then he was making sure I wasn’t hurt, and one thing lead to another and..." He trailed off and glanced back up from his hands to Leonardo, rolling his eyes at his ecstatic face and inwardly building up a shriek.  

Coming here was a mistake. 

"Look, he didn’t kiss back. And then this morning we fought about it, and how he had done nothing but fuck my life over, and...Leo, I just don’t know what to do anymore. Everything's too crazy. Im not used to crazy – for fucks sake, I barely left my house before Altair arrived and now im spending my nights at strip clubs and killing off people!"  

He heaved a sigh and leant back into the chair, feeling its worn leather around him like a comforting pair of arms. He waited, dreaded Leonardos reply, knowing what it would be. 

 _'Its_ _good_ _youre_ _getting out of your house,_ _isnt_ _it?'_  

"Well, Maik...a little excitement never killed anyone." 

A snort from Ezio, and a score to Malik. 

 _'Maybe him coming into your life is good for you.'_  

"I've never seen you like this before. If Altair...maybe hes actually doing some good." 

Point two.  

 _'Let him in. Give him a chance.'_  

"But if I were you, id be more worried about your impact on _him_. If anything, im worried about when Altair gets hurt if you continue this and it ends badly." 

Point...wait, what? 

Malik sat forward, face slipping into a frown, Ezio equally puzzled and looking to his boyfriend. "About Altair getting hurt? Leonardo, are you sure you’ve ever met the man?" 

Leonardo shrugged, smile gone now, a soft and sympathetic look his mask of choice. Ezio and Malik glanced to eachother, eyes meeting for a brief second and both, for once, having something in common as they both said _'what the fuck'_   silently before gazes turning back to the artist.  

Ezios turn to speak. "Leonardo...i really do not think if it ended badly, Altair would be the one ending up hurt. You are forgetting that this is a man who kills people in cold blood." 

"And he is also a man who offered to pay me more money to cover the expenses of working in my own home, Ezio. He is also a man who paid to fix the roof of my niece's kindergarten." Leonardo turned back to Malik after speaking softly to the Italian, a hand passing over his shoulder to squeeze it but Ezios frown only deepening. 

"Altair has a soft heart, Malik. You would be able to see it if you could look past his hard skin, but you're a man who judges things far too quickly, and you know this. You judge him unfairly." A slight pause before a sigh followed, Leonardo going out to touch and squeeze his knee almost with pity. "Do not judge him for his past, but for his present, my dear friend. He is trying. Accept that and do not bring up his previous actions to drag him down again." 

Malik looked down to his linked hands, his tan compared to Leonardos pale and delicate fingers, sighing and meeting the artists eyes. "Trying to be what, Leo?" 

A soft smile. "He would not have kissed you if he didn't care for you, Malik. You figure out what he's trying to be." 

 

After a cup of tea, another chat – about trivial things now, Leonardo's work and Ezio's current family affairs, a few detours back to Altair but Malik quickly steering the conversation away from that – he had left with a no clearer mind but a slightly lighter heart. Malik still didn’t know what he wanted, nor what Altair wanted, but for now he was content to muse on his thoughts and consider their intentions in the silence of his own home.  

Malik wasn't all too surprised when it turned out that wasn’t going to happen. 

He had barely stepped out from Leos apartment building when Altair pulled up in the taxi cab, the man pulling to a stop and leaning out of the window offering a small box of something he couldn’t quite see. Hopping down from the curb and taking it into his hands, unable to hide the small smile as he read the label. 

Wheat Thins.  

"A peace offering? That’s half of your problems solved, if I remember correctly." Altair said with a slight shrug, one hand resting on the wheel and the other on the windowsill as he kept the car idled. "Unfortunately I can't leave, so the other half of your problems will have to stay. For a while, at least." 

Malik snorted and threw the box of crackers back into the car, gesturing for him to get out of the drivers seat so he could drive. "How did you know I was here? Did you follow me?" 

"Hey, in some cultures that would be considered romantic. Besides, you were gone for a while, I was starting to get worried." 

"I wasn’t gone for that long. It was only-" Malik glanced at his watch and then paused, then raising his brows in surprise. "Okay, five hours. Fair enough." 

A murmur of agreement from Altair but otherwise remaining in silence as they pulled away, Malik not knowing their destination but figuring the best thing to do now would be to drive. The silence that sat between them wasn’t uncomfortable but it was still tense, neither of them speaking but both having words that needed to be said. Wondering who would break the ice first.  

Malik sighed. It would have to be him.  

"I'm sorry for biting your lip. And...insulting you when I left. And for calling you a serial killer. It was wrong of me and I shouldn’t have...i shouldn't have done it." He glanced over to Altair when he finished and watched him as he took the apology, nodded, fingers going to graze his lips almost in memory.  

A brief silence.  

"It doesn’t hurt that bad anyway. I shouldn't have kissed you, and you're kind of right. In calling me that, I mean. In a way, I guess I am a serial killer, I just don't like the phrase." Altair said, passing a hand through his hair and pressing his lips together before looking over to Malik. "I'm sorry too. For calling you a coward, and everything else. You're not a coward, Malik, I just wanted to protect you. This really wasn’t a mission I ever to take you on, i swear, and then after last night..." He trailed off and turned away, face to the window, breathing on the glass and making a little smiley face in the mist. 

 _Last night._  

"We should talk about last night. Preferably without the screaming and insults, this time." 

A small laugh from Altair. "Preferably. Your apartment is only five minutes away if you want to-" 

"I think I know where my own apartment is, Altair." 

"Point taken." 

 

They'd made it back to the apartment without saying a word, and now that silence continued as they sat side by side on the couch, neither daring to breathe in case the other braved the first word. Malik didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what _Altair_ would say, if they didn’t sit here until their deaths.  

Silence. 

Five minutes passed. 

Then ten. 

Almost at fifteen when the little timer In Malik's patience alarm went off, and he heaved a sigh, leaning back against the sofa as he finally parted his lips to speak. The first words to come to mind. 

"It was a nice kiss." 

A beat, then snickers from both of them, Altair beginning first as he joined him with his back resting against the couch instead of being leant forward. "That’s it? 'it was nice'?" 

"What do you expect me to say? That you need to chew more breath mints?" 

A snort. "My breath did not – well I don’t know, maybe be happy or something? Talk to me about how much of an asshole I was?" 

Malik glanced over with a wary look, a raised brow. "Oh please. We both know I kissed back. I'm more curious about why you were the first one to back away."  

The soft laughter had died now, Altair grin gone, in its place a flickering frown as he looked at his lap and chose his next words carefully. "i didn’t want you to think i was taking advantage of you." 

 _Oh._  

He pursed his lips and considered that answer, glanced over him, watching as he sat avoiding Malik's eyes with linked hands and a foot tapping to an abnormal beat. He was nervous. Scared, almost. "Well, if you weren't doing that, then what were you doing?"  

"Kissing you. I thought it was obvious. Was I too subtle?" 

Malik slapped his knee. "Fuck off. You know what I mean. Where did you want it to go? You don’t just kiss someone without any intentions." 

Altair sighed and splayed his hands. "I don’t know. It was a heat of the moment thing, you know? All I know is that I really wanted to do it, and then I kissed you, and I realized halfway through that the next day I was going to find out what castration would feel like so I stopped." 

"Castration?" Malik rolled his eyes. "Oh please. You knew very well I wouldn’t have castrated you then and there. At least not in the car. So you stopped for what...the future me?" 

A small shrug. "What can I say? You scare me. Besides, what would you have done if I hadn't stopped? Had crazy, wild, in the car sex?" 

Malik knew was going to regret these next words, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from saying them. 

“I think we both know that's exactly what would have happened if you hadn't stopped. I guess the next step is decide whether we want to keep going or stop this entirely.” 

 _What are you doing?_  

Altairs gaze was quick to turn, Malik almost laughing at the comical look of shock on his face, small grin cut off as Altair grabbed his shirt to drag him forward and kiss him. It was almost as if Malik had simply taken off his clothes and told him to fuck him rather than to subtly make him choose; he was given no warning to anything Altair did, touched, or kissed, and could do nothing but let him work his magic. 

And _oh_ had those early morning fantasies been so right in everything he had imagined. 

He didn't remember much of the past few seconds but somehow they'd ended up on the floor, Altair between his legs and breaking apart their kisses regretfully to pull his shirt away and throw it into a corner. Aggressive, rough, _hungry_ , Altair attacked him with his lips and hands and teeth like a starving dog. Shoes had flown off, and it was only when he felt the drag of Altairs teeth across his collarbone and the fingers undoing the last of his shirt buttons that he pushed the man away with a whine, Altair looking at him frustrated with wild and tangled hair from his hands. 

“Bedroom.” 

A simple command, yet Altair still had the gall to ignore it; leaning back down to pull Malik now unbuttoned shirt apart and leaving him free to leave wet, sloppy and loving kisses all along his torso. For a few precious and intimate seconds he let him have his fun before shoving him away second time, sitting up with a glare. 

“Bedroom, or nothing at all.” 

Annoying him was fun. 

Altair returned the glare but consented, getting to his feet and pulling him up with him. Not content with simply walking the ten seconds it took to get to his room, he opted instead for the longer, more interesting route of keeping Malik pressed against any solid surface as they stumbled their way to the room with lips locked and fumbling hands. A brief pause at the kitchen table, one of the chairs toppling to the ground amidst their tumbling and Altair giving a brief snort of amusement before moving the man so Malik was bent over the wood. Hands caressing, sneaking their way down his shoulders to his hips, a small smirk as he thought he had gotten away with his rebellion before the short stamp of sole against toes brought Altair back to reality. 

“Bedroom. Now.” 

Malik wasn't moved, but instead felt the warm press of a bare torso to his back, the lips grazing at his ear. “You just don't want me to get my trampoline.” 

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “where would you keep it, anyway?” 

He shivered as he suddenly felt hands on his ass, a husky chuckle and a sharp nip of Altairs teeth on his neck. “in the bedroom. Imagine having sex on a-” 

 _“Altair.”_  Malik warned. 

A sigh, then the hands moved, going back to his hips and surprisingly looping around his waist to lift Malik from the ground. He could do nothing but bat at his hands as the assassin carried him to the bedroom, frown soon melting into a look of surprise as he was pushed - or rather, thrown - onto the bed and Altair joining him with his stupid smirk. They were soon again locked in a mash of lips, legs tangled and exchanging breaths, mumbled murmurs and moans lost amidst the sound of clothes being shed and sheets wrapping themselves around bare body parts.  

Their sex was quick, hot and rough, entirely focused on release and the desperation for touch rather than intimacy. 

And Malik discovered that Altair was a cuddler. 

   
 

They lay in post-orgasmic bliss with sheets clinging to their sweaty bodies, finally regaining their breath after losing it to each other and arms clutching to the other. Altairs were looped around Malik's chest and his lips were leaving soft, open mouthed kisses all the side of his neck like he was trying to devour him, one foot caressing his upper calf in rhythmic movements that matched the beating of his heart. 

“I don't think we made a clear enough decision to keep going.” He suddenly murmured, making Malik turn his gaze to him. “We should do this again to make sure.” 

He snorted. “I'm pretty sure we both know _exactly_ what we wanted.” 

“I wanted a trampoline.” 

“In what world would you prefer a trampoline over sex?” 

Altair grinned and shuffled impossibly closer, lips inching higher. “A world where sex in a certain place _leads_ to a trampoline.” 

He rolled his eyes and pushed Altair away, not bothering to put clothes on or wrap a sheet around himself. “I'm going to have a shower.” 

“Mind if I join?” 

Malik shuffled his way to the bathroom. “Yes. Don't.” 

He got nothing but a piteous whine in return, relieved to not hear footsteps, clicking the bathroom door shut and locking it behind him. Turning the shower on and getting in despite the water being freezing, he let the water run over his skin and cool his body while his mind returned from its lust filled state and started to grind again. 

He'd had sex. _Just_ had sex.  

More than that, he'd had sex with _Altair_. 

Regardless of the partner, most of him was very pleased with the fact that he'd finally managed to bed someone after such a long time. His body was content and satisfied, and all things considered, he was actually fine with the fact that it had been Altair who had done this to him. 

Which wasn't fine at all. 

He leant against the shower wall and put his head in his hands, feeling the water run and slowly heat, trying to calm his tangled thoughts. Yes, Altair was, right now, naked in his bed. Yes, Malik had been the one to initiate. No, he didn't know what would happen next.  

He didn't know what would _happen_ next. 

But what did he _want_ to happen next?  

In a way, he was relieved it had ended like this. It had gotten rid of the underlying sexual tension that had consumed his nightly thoughts for a few days now. Perhaps, that was it - now that they'd fucked, they could get on with their lives like nothing had happened. They'd gotten out their frustration through an act of mutual pleasure and now they could move on. 

But Malik didn't _want_ to move on. 

Against all better instincts, against everything that his mind was screaming at him, he wanted _more._ More of what, he didn't quite know. But what Malik did know, and what he hated most of all, was the fact that every inch of his being despised the idea of simply moving on. 

He sighed into his palms. Life was complicated, sex was complicated, _love_ was complicated. Why couldn't it be simple? 

 _Because then it wouldn't be as fun._  

   
 

When he got out of the shower Altair had disappeared from his room. He didn't feel guilty about the fact that this relieved him. It meant exactly what he had thought - that this had been nothing but session to get rid of the tension between them.  

He ignored the twinge of sadness, and pressed it down. 

After pulling some fresh clothes on he went to the lounge, finding a shirtless Altair in the kitchen, two mugs on the counter and preparing coffee. A slight pause allowed the assassin to spot him and turn, and being it too late to escape, Malik pretended he had always meant to find him anyway. 

“Hey. I'm making coffee, I'm assuming you want some?” 

Altair gave a small grin as Malik nodded, suddenly tensing as he made his way over, not moving and barely breathing as Altair wove his arms around his waist. “How do you take it? Like your men?” 

He rolled his eyes. “I was going to say like myself.” 

“What, black and bitter?” 

It was a good jive and Malik almost snorted, stopping himself and instead pulling away from Altairs embrace, nodding to answer his question. He was turned so he didn't see it but he felt his grin fade, the silence between them now uncomfortable. 

He hadn't even managed to make it to the lounge before Altair spoke. 

“Why are you acting like this?” 

Well, it wasn't the sentence he expected, but it had the same meaning. 

He turned and acted oblivious. “Acting like what?” 

Altairs frown was deep and cut, but he refrained from turning to insults or petty jabs. “like...this. distant. You look like I've just kicked your dog. Is everything okay?” 

“I don't have a dog.” 

 _Avoiding the question._  

“You're avoiding the question.” 

Malik sighed and leant against the doorway, shrugging. “How do you expect me to act, Altair?” 

The frown dissolved into a look of concern and confusion. “well I don't know...happy? Maybe?” He spluttered. 

“Oh, yes, of course. Thank you for the sex Altair, I'm so happy from our mutual satisfaction after you fucked me that I'll just be an absolute joy for the rest of the time you're here. You were really great, gold star, I'm such a fucking _delight_ now.” 

Malik had spat this and hadn't expected much of it, used now to their angry banter and spits, more curious now about why he had been so quick to flame. He quite possibly would have continued with his heated words if it hadn't been the remarkable silence from Altair, the silence that made him glance upwards and see something he hadn't expected.  

Altair wasn't angry. He wasn't glaring, he wasn't preparing insults or snarky comebacks. The only emotion he could see in those eyes and openly clear on his face was...pain. 

He was in _pain_. 

 _Why?_  

He didn't know what to say and instead stood, dumbstruck, gaze unmoving from Altairs face, trying to register what the fuck this meant. Had he said something off limits? Had he- 

“Was that all it was to you?” 

 _What?_  

Malik didn't say anything in return, couldn't. He stood like an idiotic fool with his mouth gaping and his hands loose. Altairs voice had quieted, grown softer and dare he say was threatening to break. 

“Was that all it was? Sex? It didn't...mean anything to you? The kiss, the flirting, it was all just for _sex_?” 

 _Mean something to me?_  

And then everything, Altairs face and his words, everything clicked into place. 

It wasn't just that for Altair.  

Making him coffee, asking him how he wanted it when he never had before. Asking if he was coping, trying to protect him from what he knows would hurt him. Actually following his commands when he asked him to do something when he had always done the opposite or at the very least whine about the task.  

Altair _cared_ for him.

And more than he had expected.  

“Altair, i-” Malik was cut off by him shaking his head. “If that was all you wanted, you should have just asked instead of leading me on like this.” A bitter laugh. “I knew you were an asshole, Malik, but I never thought you could be this cruel.” 

The words cut straight to his heart. “that's not...Altair, that's not what I wanted, I just never wanted-” 

“Never wanted what, Malik? Me?” The way his voice broke made something deep fall inside Malik, something dark and tangled, made his knees shake and made him want nothing more than to go back to twenty minutes ago and not leave that bed. Not leave that bed next to him.   

“Because I want you, Malik. You confuse me, and irritate me, and frustrate the _shit_ out of me but I want nothing else in the world if I can't have you. You're like No-one I've ever met and you make me feel things that I haven't...I _need_ you, Malik. Like no-one I've ever needed before.” 

He hadn't imagined this. 

He had never imagined this evening to turn out like this. 

“Why didn't you tell me before?” He barely whispered out the words, unable to say anything more louder. Afraid to say anything more. Altair sighed, shook his head, looked back up to him with eyes begging to be understood. Standing in front of him wasn't an assassin, trained to kill, an inhumane monster incapable of emotion any humility. Altair was just a man who's trying to hold his heart together with thin and clumsily made strings.  

“I don't know how, Malik.” Said almost in shame. “I've never had to do anything like this. I let _you_ lead, i let you do everything, because I...I don't know how to do things like this and thought you did. That you wanted to. I've never had a chance to.”  

He had been an idiot. 

How had he not realized? In all of his self-centered pity wallowing, all while he had battled with himself, had flirted back. _Malik_ had been the one to lean in first. _Malik_ had been the one who lead them to sex. _Malik_ had always flirted back.  

Altair had let him take everything at his own pace, had let him be in control the whole time, and he had spent the whole time thinking Altair was forcing himself onto him when Malik had always been willing anyway.  

Malik had always wanted him. He had just refused to believe it because of his stupid fucking pride. 

And now he was breaking the man he cares about heart because Altair thought all he had wanted was him in bed. 

“But that is what I want.” He finally found the courage to speak, stepping forward now on shaky legs Altair flinching at his closeness but not looking away. “Altair, i don't just want....i dont just want sex. Youre right, im an asshole, i kept lying to myself about everything i felt. I _care_ about you. God, im such an asshole.” 

A soft silence.  

“Then why do you keep pushing me away?” Altair finally spoke, voice sounding more solid now, teasing him with the faintest hint of hope. 

“Because…” 

He couldn't finish the sentence. His mouth as dry and his heart was racing but he couldn't find the words, the expression to say what he wanted. His heart and head and words were all filled with holes and he had nothing to fill them with. 

Altair reached out, taking his hands like he did last night, caressing his thumbs with worn digits and his palms feeling warm against his skin.“Because you're worried about how it will turn out? You don't want anything more with such a short time period? You're worried you'll end up like me, or that someday ill-” 

Altair was trying to fill the gaps but he was using water instead of dirt. 

“Because I'm _scared_ , Altair.” They had inexplicably gotten closer and Malik could see his chest rising and falling, avoiding his eyes, hating how weak he was. “I dont _want_ to care for you, but I do. And caring for you the way I do is dangerous, especially when its you. I'm scared for when you get hurt and if I get hurt and I don't want my life to change, even if it should.” 

A small laugh. Genuine this time, from Altair, making a small smile flicker across Maliks lips. “You think I'm not, Malik? I don't want to see you hurt.” 

“I can take care of myself.” 

“So you're worried about me?” 

A sigh. “I guess so.” 

“isn't that a little illogical? I'm surprised to hear such a thing coming from you.” 

It was Maliks turn to laugh now. “Life isn't logical, i just try to bring some in where I can. Right now I can't.” 

Altairs hands shifted from caressing his to his hips, drawing them together now, linking behind Maliks back and foreheads pressed together. “So do you want to be stupid, illogical, and terrified with me?” 

A beat as he considered what he knew the answer would be anyway.  

“Okay.” 

Their third, proper kiss was much like their first, soft in the dying light of the evening and only breaking when they were both desperate for air. He rested his head on Altairs shoulder and they stood there for a while, in the others arms. 

It was nice. 

For once, they had a normal moment. 

“I ate the rest of the wheat thins while you were in the shower, by the way.” 

“Fuck you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, i missed updating this on the first by one day. That would have been amazing. But three weeks! Still good.  
> I had fun writing this chapter and i hope you had fun reading it! We're just over halfway there and things are getting exciting. Even though i love writing this, i cant wait to write the end...both for humorous purposes and because i want to move on to another story.  
> Again, and as i will probably mention every time, i thank you all from the bottom of my heart for all of the Kudos and the comments you leave. They all mean an incredible amount to me and i cant thank any of you enough.  
> See you next chapter, and have a good one!


	11. Watch your footing.

He wasn’t used to waking up and knowing who was attached to the lips on his neck. 

At least, not yet. 

Malik attempted to roll away and get dressed but Altairs arm had ensnared him from behind, trapping him in the embrace and pulling his body backwards to press them together. His grumble of complaint was soon silenced as he felt the press of lips on his neck again. 

"Are you some sort of sex nymph?" 

Altair chuckled and shrugged, returning the jive with a sharp bite in the soft skin just above his collarbone. "Can you blame me when I have you in my bed?" 

"Not your bed. My bed." 

"Our bed." 

Malik snorted and batted the sneaking hands away. "I don’t see your name on the lease." 

"You can get leases on bed frames now?" 

If he rolled his eyes any more they'd roll back into his head. 

Instead of dignifying Altairs sarcasm with a reply he pushed himself away, finally – and however regretfully – escaping his grasp and rolling with a thump onto the floor. A sad whine followed from the bed but no sounds of movement, only sign of life being a hand loosely hanging over the edge of the mattress, allowing Malik to finally get ready for the day without...dis0traction. 

Welcome distraction, but a distraction nonetheless. 

He rifled through his drawers to find relatively clean clothes for the day and slipped them on, not bothering to tidy his hair or face and choosing to ignore the mirror. He turned back to face the bed once he was dressed, leant against the wall, folding his arms and watching the scene before him almost with amusement. 

"How do you sleep naked? Honestly?" 

Altair was tangled in the sheets on the bed, half covered in what little remained of the bed covers and the rest starkly.With his face pressed against a pillow and hair tangled and wild he still looked asleep, but the half open eyes that watched all of Malik's moves, the small smile that allowed glimpses of white teeth to show when he spoke and the foot caressing the mattress at an uneven pace gave his wakefulness away. Curiously enough one leg was covered while the other wasn’t, allowing a wonderful glimpse of the rarest of all flesh to be seen – an assassins bare ass. Another small flicker of teeth in a smile in a smile as Altair prepared his retort. “I'm wearing socks. Besides, you can’t have sex with underwear on.” 

“We were sleeping.” 

A snort. “Not for long.” 

He frowned and threw an odd sock at him, the well-placed shot earning a cry of confusion and pain from Altair as he jerked away from the garment as if it were toxic. “Oh God, are you trying to poison me?” 

“I wish.” Malik pushed away from the wall and past the bed, going to the kitchen. “Get out of bed you damned novice.” 

A faint insult back followed him but he was already too far to hear it, getting the coffee ready and finally beginning to properly wake up. The sun that filtered in far too bright through the windows helped with that; it was past ten in the morning already and yet he felt like he hadn’t slept all night. 

In fairness, that wasn’t entirely wrong. 

He heard the faint pad of footsteps behind him and stopped the advances with a single finger, brandished proud and upright and held until Altair resigned himself to sitting at the dining table. Malik soon joined him with two mugs and handed one over. Silence. Brief, sweet, and succulent silence. 

“Didn’t we have a job to do yesterday?” 

Malik pressed one cheek to his fist as he drank his coffee, Altair answering with a shrug. “Yeah, but it wasn’t time important. We can do it today." 

"Wasn’t this the guy on death row?" 

Altair nodded. "Stupid, right? Apparently, he needs to die in 'the right way', which is utter bullshit, but whatever. I get paid more." 

He arched his eyebrows. "The right way? Shady. Didn’t realize being in a cult was your kind of thing." Receiving nothing but a shrug in return, he gave up on all attempts at conversation, knowing Altair was still too tired to fully function and settling to drink his coffee in silence. Yesterday had been crazy. They deserved a break. 

They did not get one. 

Barely five minutes had passed before they were both startled by the knocking on the door, looking to each other in confusion before the mystery solved itself with an excited call of their names. 

"Malik! Altair! Open the door soon or else I'm going to assume you're having romantic relations!" 

Leonardo. 

A second voice chimed in. "But if you are, still open the door! I have money on whether or not Malik is actually a woman in disguise!" 

Of course it was Ezio. Why not make this day any worse? Why not have Kadar here as well? 

He looked over but Altair was already standing, at the door before Malik could voice a warning and opening it with arms folded. A beat. The screech that followed after a few seconds of dead silence could have deafened anyone in a thirty-yard radius. 

Altair was pushed out of the way without a second thought and Leonardo materialized into the dining room, grin nearly splitting his face and looking like he was about to burst. "Malik! What happened? He's shirtless! You're drinking coffee together! Did you have sex? Did you both confess your feelings – have 

you made it official yet?" He blabbered on and on, Malik zoning out to glare at Ezio who stood behind the ecstatic painter. He received a wink in return. 

Altair saved him by interrupting the endless stream of questions and queries, the assassin placing a hand on Leonardo's shoulder. "Leonardo, Leo- calm down, alright? Breathe. Will you please just sit down and calm it before you have a heart attack? I have enough blood on my hands as it is." 

Leonardo sat, though still brimming with excitement, barely able to sit still and clasping his hands together on his lap like a nervous school child. Ezio joined him, and before Altair could get a chance to speak the Italian thrust in first. "We did actually come here for a reason. Well, a reason other than to intrude on your sex life." 

Malik's frown grew deeper, both at the jive and the sudden solemn tone. "Then what did you come for?" 

Ezio reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, tapping on the screen and flicking through different applications. Leonardo simply kept grinning and alternating his gaze between him and Altair, making the assassin snort and roll his eyes. Eventually Ezio found what he wanted and loaded it up, handing the phone over to the pair. 

It was a news bulletin. A sharply dressed news reporter shuffled papers on her desk before turning to the camera, the words 'Tyrants execution too swift?' running along the bottom of the screen. 

"Well, shit." Altair said. 

'"In our main news today, convicted felon 'Majd Addin' has been killed in a series of prison riots early this morning. Though it would seem he played no part in planning or even igniting the riots themselves, Addin was caught in the crossfires of a heated battle between prison forces and the rioting prisoners, and was found beaten to death after the staff managed to control the situation. Majd Addin was a convict charged with a number of felonies, such as accomplice to murder, manslaughter, bribery, and treason. He was scheduled to the death penalty later this week." 

The video ended and Ezio took his phone back. "We...thought you should know. Considering he was one of your targets." 

Altair nodded and put his head in his hands, murmuring a quiet 'thank you' before sighing and dissolving into silence. 

A moment. 

"I suppose this is a bad moment to ask which one of you confessed your love first?" 

The trio answered in unison. "Yes." 

 

It was 1 pm. Still no phone call. 

Altair was resilient that would happen. "When something goes wrong, they always call. Always. Even if its something I haven't done like now – they always call." 

While Malik had a relative faith in Altair, he had none in whatever organization he worked for. This, of course, led him to have absolutely no trust in the claim about this supposed phone call and as the hours went by, became more and more frustrated. 

They were alone, as Leonardo and Ezio had left after it became apparent nothing further of interest would happen. The first hour had been spent debating on what, exactly, would happen; pointless and frivolous debates, no matter how much they argued they were needed. They simply spun in circles, always arguing the same points, Malik too oblivious about Altair's work and Altair too proud to admit he might be wrong. Both of them too wrapped up with each other to give a thought about how this might not lead to anything bad, but no, of course, as soon as you're involved with someone they immediately become a target. 

At least, that’s what Altair said. Malik was still convinced he had spent too much time watching action movies and not enough time in the dating pool. 

The second hour had been a bit better. He had gone out to get some drinks – they had run out the previous night, drinking themselves into a stupor, an attempt to get drunk enough to forget about the all-too-cliché love confession scene but not too drunk to avoid climbing into bed together. It was a miracle both of them had only a minor hangover. He had returned to find Altair asleep, his phone pressed to his face and his shoes on his hands. 

He didn’t ask why. 

The third hour, leading up to now, they had both spent separate. Malik ( as he was now ) continued to work his way through 'Of Mice And Men', the fresh batch of coffee long forgotten by both of them. Altair had just gotten out of the shower, and was in the bedroom trying to find some clothes to change into. 

" 'For two bits I'd shove out of here. If we can get jus' a few dollars in the poke we'll shove off and go up the American River and pan gold. We can make maybe a couple of dollars a day there, and we might hit a pocket.' " 

The pure American Dream. Maybe he and Altair would do that; give the finger to his superiors, both grow beards and longer hair and develop a taste for country music and tobacco, and go fishing for gold along the American River. 

Malik decided against it. He looked terrible in hats, and he was willing to bet Altair would snap and kill everyone in sight after the third song about girls in a corn field - that is, if he himself didn’t snap first. 

He had just turned his mind back to the book when a hand plucked It from his grasp, pulling it behind the couch and making him swivel around to glare and demand it back. The cutting words, however, soon died on his lips. 

"Why...why are you naked?" 

Altair jokingly covered his crotch with the book, smirking. "I just came out of the shower. Why? Are you," a quick glance to the novels cover, and an immediate look of disgust formed."Oh for fuck's sake, this book again? Malik, get a better taste in books." He threw the novel behind him and left himself, again, uncovered, moving his hands to his hips. "Besides, clothes are boring." 

"Clothes are a... necessity in a modern society." 

"Oh?" Altair arched a brow and moved in, leaning on the couch. "And nudists?" 

"They are...outliers. Exceptions." He could barely focus to speak with his eyes roaming with much to devour. Altair knew this, didn’t make any attempt to hide anything. Bastard. 

"Then can I not I be an outlier? An exception?" 

He swallowed. "Give me my book." 

A hushed tone now. "Make me." 

Harsher, hardened, but cracking words to retort. He was losing. "Altair. Give me my book." 

Rather than closing in for the kill Altair pushed himself backwards, leaving Malik to breathe a shaky sigh. Picking up the book and holding it, keeping it just out of his grasp before speaking. 

"Read it to me." 

He snorted at the idea. "What?" 

"Read it to me." The assassin shrugged and casually tossed the book to him, Malik catching it with a confused frown. "From where you left off. Go ahead." 

This was a trap. He knew it. 

It’s a trap. 

Don’t read it. 

Don’t. 

His mind screamed at him but his fingers disobeyed, fumbling through the pages to find the number he had left on and the words he had last read. His mouth, too, ignored his cries to keep his dignity, stumbling and dry and all too eager to voice the sentences that lined the paper. "Lennie leaned eagerly toward him. 'Let's go, George. Let's get outta here. It's mean here.' " 

Malik didn’t hear Altair approach but saw him once he loomed into view, keeping his eyes glued to the page for the sake of both himself and Altairs order. It was only the sneaking fingers that were walking up his leg that threatened to break his concentration, only succeeding in causing his voice to falter slightly and his breath to quicken a beat. He pushed on. 

" 'We gotta stay,' George said shortly. 'Shut up now. The guys'll be comin' in.' From the washroom nearby..." 

Cut off as a new, unfair strike from Altair pierced through his defenses and made him shudder, trail off; lips gently grazing his neck but not giving the satisfaction of being pressed properly to there. His warm breath, lips, and fingers all teasing and taunting him but Malik wouldn’t, he refused to give in. 

"From the washroom nearby came the sound of running water and rattling basins. George studied the cards. 'Maybe we oughtta wash up,' he said. 'But we ain't done nothing to get dirty. A tall man-" 

Oh, now this was just unfair. 

Altairs teeth pierced the soft skin just above his collarbone and causing him to intake sharply, just a nip but enough to force him to stop and have to truly work to contain himself. The small sound he made caused the assassin to grin and continue at his work, if a little more harshly. "They may have done nothing dirty, but that doesn’t mean we can’t.” 

"Altair-" 

Another hidden smirk, another bite, kisses finally making their way lazily and wet along and up the side of Malik's neck joined by teeth. "Mmm…I didn’t think my name was in the novel." 

"It-its not, but you need to...you need to-" 

"Stop?" Interrupted with a dark chuckle and more, much more than sneaking hands moving further up his body and underneath clothes to languidly stroke and fondle places he should not be. "I think we can both agree that neither of us want that." 

Bastard. 

Malik licked his lips and tried to continue but only a croaking sound escaped, too busy focused on what was going on in his pants and his neck to even attempt to read from the novel. Why did he challenge Altair at this? He knew he was going to lose, but then again, that was probably his intent from the start. If he didn’t want this to happen, he would have simply ignored the naked killer in his lounge. 

Even if that is quite a difficult feat to accomplish in the first place. 

''If this is how you truly feel about the literary works of John Steinbeck, Malik," He smirked but paused for a few seconds, hands still down in his pants and on his quickly growing erection, himself continuing to fume silently that he had lost so easily and yet so willingly, "then I think it's safe to say I'm never going to take you to a library." 

"Fuck you." 

"Do." 

Though Maliks next words and actions would have been most deliciously scandalous had he the opportunity, he was interrupted by the persistent ringing of Altairs fucking cellphone finally cut through the thick haze of wanton lust and desire. 

Both of them didn’t move for a few seconds, staring at each other and sharing looks, and the immediate and intense hatred of a phone call, if physical, could have possibly melted the phone itself if not set it on fire. Eventually Altair sighed and backed away. 

"Fuck that phone, fuck my job, fuck my company, and fuck whoever I have to kill next." 

"Not me?" 

A snort. "God, I wish." 

Malik rubbed his face as Altair answered the phone, stifling a laugh at the almost comedic sight; himself sitting on the couch, left incredibly turned on with one of the most iconic novels of all time in his hands, while his half hard naked boyfriend answered the phone to talk to his employers about killing someone. 

Leonardo would have had a fit. 

He stood, figuring that his current 'situation' would have to resolve itself, heading to the bathrooms and passing a now seemingly frustrated Altair on the way. "No, I didn’t - it wasn’t my fault, I didn’t organize the riots, I didn’t - what? No!" 

Wasn’t his place to know, wasn’t his place to care. 

 

He had just emerged from the bathroom with scarce time to wash his hands before the demands started and the panic began.

"Get dressed." 

"I am dressed. You're the naked one." 

Altair glanced down as if he had forgotten his current outfit of choice, fists clenched and shaking. It seemed whatever news had come through on the phone wasn’t good. "Right. Yes. I'll get dressed. You need to...you need to make the bed, and then make it look like I've been sleeping on the couch for the past few days. Or at least last night. Then...shit, then, I need to go through my books, see the target for today-" 

"Altair!" Malik finally managed a word between the assassins panicked orders. "Mind telling me what the fuck is going on?" 

He stopped, looked up and stopped his pacing, swallowed and took a minute to breathe before he spoke. Malik had never – though granted their time together had been short – seen him so utterly lost. Out of his depth. "I'm getting a supervisor." 

"A...what?" 

Altair ran his hands through his hair. "A supervisor. You know, like when you first get a job and they send one of their more experienced members to help you? And watch over what you're doing to make sure you don’t screw up? Well, my company isn't exactly pleased about the whole prison situation, and think my abilities have been...compromised. Especially considering I brought a civilian- I brought you into this." 

Malik frowned. “Wait, so your company is….what? Sending over a couple of polished off lackeys to make sure you don’t shoot yourself in the foot, all because of me?” 

A frustrated sigh. “No, they’re sending over another one of their operatives.” Altair finally looked up from the ground and met his eyes, honey on tea, confused on chaotic. “They’re sending over another one of me.” 

Quiet, as implications of the situation set in and the delicacy of their future and fate was decided. They had a heartbeat of a moment before they began their plan of attack, a few precious seconds which, for all he knew, would be the last time they ever interacted even remotely as a pair. As a couple. As lovers instead of mere cohorts in crime. 

“Will he at least be as hot as you?” 

“Put the blankets on the damn couch, ass.” 

A shared grin. “Novice.” 

 

Altair had been pacing the room for ten minutes now, and the frequent Rhythm of his steps on the carpet had lulled Malik into sleep. It had been twenty odd minutes since the phone call and they were still waiting on the mystery assassin to show up and do…whatever he was ordered to. If he was even going to show up. 

“Any idea who it might be?’ he spoke to try and ward off the sleep creeping, not bothering to open his eyes or turn his head to face Altair as he asked. He could hear him well enough and knew he was in earshot. 

“No idea. Probably not a rookie, but they won’t send any senior assassins either. It’d be a waste. I’m thinking another operative around my level, already close in the area.” 

His snark remark was cut off by a brisk knocking on the door, making him sit up, turn, and Altair practically sprint to open it. From where he was sitting he couldn’t see who was standing in the door frame, but judging by Altairs reaction it wasn’t who he was expecting. 

“Rauf?” 

“Altair!” An incredibly large and hairy man enveloped the assassin in a bear hug, going so far to lift him a few centimeters from the ground and quite possibly crush a few ribs. By the time he let him ago Malik was standing and able to fully see who they would be dealing with. 

And _boy_. 

He stood at least a head over Altair and half of his face was covered in the most immense beard he had ever seen, dark hair to match the closely cropped hairstyle of choice and a grin far too wide to possibly fit on a human face. Built thicker than Altair, he had far more muscle mass and Malik had no doubts he could crush him like a toothpick if he had wished. He just hoped that he didn’t wish that. 

“it is so good to see you, my friend! And this is your companion, yes? Malik? A pleasure.” His hand was suddenly grasped between two and he could barely control the whimper at the strong handshake, convinced all of the bones in his hand were broken when Rauf finally let go and turned back to Altair. “I just wish we had met again under happier circumstances. But ah, I’m sure the evaluation will go fine! You’re a good agent.” 

“You and me both, Rauf. We can use the roof whenever You’re ready, if you’re really up to it, old man.” 

“You’re calling me an old man? Show respect to your elders! I am barely a few years older, I ought to ground you.” 

Malik butted in the friendly rubbing, a small frown finding it’s way onto his features. “Evaluation? What evaluation?” 

The two assassins shared a look, almost passing a secret message between them in a glance Malik couldn’t decipher. Rauf arched a brow, folded his arms, a smirk teasing. “You tell him the ins and outs of our organization, yet don’t tell him about a simple training session? Maybe your abilities _are_ compromised.” 

He rolled his eyes, making his way past Malik to his duffel bag and beginning to rifle through. “I didn’t want him to worry.” 

Rauf placed a hand to his chest, mouth open in over exaggerated shock and a giving a small gasp. “Drink this scene in, Malik, for it is not often we see Altair displaying emotion.” 

He found what he was looking for, straightening up holding a fresh shirt and a couple of frighteningly sharp knives. “Fuck off. Let’s just get this over with, and we’ll see who’s abilities are compromised.” 

No response aside from a low whistle from Rauf, the newest addition to their seemly growing crew leaving to the elevators with a chuckle. He could wait. Malik stood in front of the door with crossed arms and a deepened frown that demanded an explanation or at the very least, comfort. When he tried to pass he simply moved, and once Altair realized what was happening he inexplicably let loose a small laugh. “I’m going to be fine. It’s just a sparring session.” 

“And the knives?” 

“Sparring session. He’s not going to kill me.” 

He said nothing in return but the frown deepened and as did his resolve. Even so, he leant into the sudden -if welcome – kiss, short and chaste and warm with a fleeting touch over his chest to keep balance. Altair remained close after they parted with noses brushing and a small smile tugging at the edge of his lips. “You worry too much.” 

A conversation he’d had before. “I like to think I worry enough.” 

Fingers wandering, light, over his shoulder and dragging across his neck as their eyes remained locked. “save the worry for the real danger. Like keeping this a secret when all I want to do,” A deliberate pause, a quick glance over the shoulder, feeling like a couple of schoolboys worried about getting caught in the art supplies cabinet, “is kiss you.” 

The words drew a rare smile from Malik. “Just go already. Tormenting me does nothing but waste time.” 

“But it _is_ fun.” 

“Go before your Bear of a friend gets suspicious. If you come back quick enough we can sneak in a few more while he takes a shower – so you better work your ass off.” 

Promises, promises. They should never be made in soft moments like these. 

But then the moment was gone with a grin as Altair left and Malik was left alone with a wandering heart and cold lips. 

 

It was a little over three hours when they returned, Rauf with a broad laugh. "Yes, i know, but my point still stands. You need to watch your footing! You dont, then whumph, one day someone kicks you right in the soft spots. Not good for you at all. Now if you excuse me..." He barely glanced at malik before heading for the shower with a wave of his hand, Altair finally sneaking through the doorway with immediate cause for concern. 

“Why are you covering your face?” Malik leaned against the kitchen bench with folded arms and a stern but joking look, watching him hide behind held up hands. "Altair?" 

"Just... have a headache. I think I'm going to go lie down. All good." 

His frown deepened and the humorous tone disappeared, Malik reaching out and grabbing one of his arms before he could escape. "Don’t you lie to – oh, for god's sake!" 

When he pulled his arm he had also pulled the hand covering half of his face down, revealing small cuts littering his cheeks and lining along his jaw, some bleeding and raw. "You said you wouldn’t get hurt!" 

"No, I said I wouldn’t get _killed_. Small difference." Altair finally lowered his other hand to reveal more, a deep one lying just beneath the cheekbone. "Im fine, Malik. I'll just shower off." 

"Not with Rauf you won't. Sit your ass down so I can clean these up." He shoved him towards the kitchen table and chairs, rifling through the kitchen drawers to find where he kept the first aid kit. Thank God he didn’t keep it in the bathroom. "And you thought you could hide them from me." 

A shrug in return, a sly grin as he sat down and waited. "Figured I could at least make it to the bathroom. Rauf fucked up my plans." 

"Not the first time." Malik murmured bitterly, pulling the kit from the bottom cupboard with a grunt. It was heavier than he remembered. "Now, this is going to hurt a bit. But I won't be sorry." 

"Jee. Thanks." He received a roll of eyes but otherwise no more complaints as he made his way over, clipping open the kit and pawing his way through to look for bandages and disinfectant.  Once he found them he left the box on the table, tilting Altairs face so he could start from the left where the deepest cut was. 

"You know – ow! Shit! Could you be any more rough?" He flinched away from his fingers but Malik held him right, kept dabbing the disinfectant despite his complaints. He only responded once he had opened the wound pad and stuck it over the bleeding. "I could. You were saying?" 

He rolled his eyes. "I was saying... that maybe you could distract me. To help with the pain. Maybe we could get back to what we were doing before he arrived, you know?" 

Continuing to dab at the wounds he pondered the words, a half smile creeping, Altair watching every move he made with half lidded eyes. "That seems a bit dangerous." Said but he leaned in closer anyway. 

"I kind of like that."  

Then they were back in that moment again, moving his hands to tilt his head into the kisses rather than to bandage wounds, Altair moving his own to his hips and sneaking under his shirt. Rauf, work, injuries, everything forgotten in these ( minutes? Hours? ) as they, to put it crudely – though in truth there was no other possible way to describe it other than crudely – could barely keep hands and lips off one another like a couple of horny teenagers. 

He was almost relieved when Rauf emerged from the shower and forced them to stumble apart, rubbing a towel over his hair. Relieved, if only because he wasn’t quite sure what they would have said if he had come in a few minutes later, because there would have been a lot less clothes and a lot more explaining to do. "Malik, you have the nicest shower! Seriously! For such a shitty apartment I never would have thought." 

"Uh....thanks? I think?" He ran a hand through his hair, all three of them flushed ( though one for more modest reasons ) and trying to look as innocent as possible.  

"Good! Now, I also need to speak to you privately. Altair, go shower, you smell disgusting." At the insult the assassin frowned but complied with a shrug, sneaking a wink to Malik before he turned and disappeared into the bathroom. 

Why did Rauf need to speak to him privately? Was this about him being a 'civilian' or something? Maybe he thought- 

The questions were soon answered, though not as delicately as he had wished. 

As soon as Altair was gone Malik found himself shoved against a wall. It seemed the ability to simply switch between emotions was not unique to Altair because within a fraction of a _second_  Rauf was borderline furious, making him shrink and try to press himself into the wall that he had been pushed against. 

"I am not blind, Malik. I see what you two have." 

Shit. 

"I do not care about his personal affairs. Frankly, I don’t care about you." 

Ouch. 

"But I promise you one thing. Just one thing, one rule that I would like you to think of every time you see that pretty little face of his. You hurt him, and I hurt you." 

Message received. _Jesus_. 

 

They said it would be easy.  

That the job would take, at most, and hour and a half.  

And yet, he was still here, not four hours later, driving down some stupid fucking deserted road at stupid fucking 2 am looking for his stupid _fucking_ boyfriend, and his stupid fucking homicidal friend.  

Malik was not happy. 

Rauf was tagging along for the next target, so it was he and Altair had left around 10. Like they said, it should have been simple. Cause the already tipsy drunk target to swerve off the road and hit a tree. Looks like an accident. Perfect, easy, shouldn't take more than half an hour, and they should be back by midnight. Evidently this was not the case, because they were two hours late. 

Bullshit. The whole situation was bullshit.  

"You worry too much....Worry too much my ass." He imititaed Altairs voice as he drove along, headlights on full trying to see something, anything along this stupid road. It was pitch dark out there - how did they even know their target, Jubair, would take this route? A more important question, _why_ would Jubair take this route?

Well, it would be a lot harder to crash if you were drunk. He guessed that was why.

He finally spotted where they had parked the rental car and pulled over on his own, honking the horn and turning the car off to get out when that received no response. Clicking the torch on his phone he peered into the windows but, to his nonsurprise, the car was empty.  

Well, looks like he was going for a walk this evening. Fun times for all. 

 

“Altair?” 

Creeping down the road, his phone barely illuminating the path ahead. The fire from the car was flickering in the distance but not close enough to light the way, supplying simply as a beacon instead, a destination for him to reach. He had that, at least. This whole situation reminded him of every bad horror film in existence; all he was missing was a slutty girl and some creepy music. Throw in a couple of animal sounds and a full moon, you’ve got yourself a decent film with Malik as the unwilling star. 

He just hoped it wasn’t the kind of horror film where the protagonist died for shock effect. 

“Altair, I swear to God if you’re keeping quiet just to frighten me I'll…I don’t know what I’ll do, but it won’t be good.” 

He was nearly at the car, the smell of gasoline and burnt tires beginning to reach and choke him. Surely by now at least one of them could hear him? Something had gone wrong. Something had to have gone wrong. Every step he took closer to the car increased the feeling of….wrongness, like one of those puzzles with two near identical pictures and you had to spot the differences. Sure, they looked the same, but even though you had to really, really look closely to see the odd shapes or colors out, the second picture just didn’t look right. Instinct, he supposed. 

You’re supposed to listen to your instincts. Why wasn’t he? 

Malik finally reached the scene and it took him seconds to realize what was out of place. Jubairs car was burning, collided with a tree off the edge of the road after swerving to avoid a ‘deer ’ as planned, but there was a body slumped against one of the trees closer to himself. Jubair should be dead, burning in the car, so either he didn't die in the crash, there was another passenger, an unlucky pedestrian, or… 

A few more steps closer and he could confirm which option it was. A few more steps. His pace rising to match his heart rate. 

No. 

 _No._  

“Altair? Altair!” Malik stumbled the last few feet he needed to collapse on his knees next to the assassin, hands shaky but working fast to cup his cheeks and raise his face, slipping one down to his neck to check for a heartbeat, please, please let there be a heartbeat, please… 

He was alive. Unconscious, a savage wound on his temple that was streaming blood down half of his face and most of his clothes were ripped and bloodstained, but alive. 

What should he do? He didn’t know. The Injury looked bad, he probably had a concussion and was losing a lot of blood. Bruises were beginning to blossom up his neck and along his jaw, had he…had he been punched? Where was Rauf? What the fuck had- 

“I should have guessed you would figure everything had gone sour.” 

He had been around weapons and death enough now to recognize the click of a gun being cocked behind his head, and the touch of the muzzle pressed into his hair was unmistakable. Frozen still now, unable to even speak, hands still clutching the piece of cloth he had torn from Altairs shirt as a makeshift bandage with white knuckles. 

“You’re going to stand. Slowly. Raise your hands behind your head and link them, I don’t want anything funny, alright?” 

Malik did as Rauf asked – did he really have any other choice? Disobeying meant his death, and worse, Altairs, and he wasn’t going to take that risk. If not for him, for Altair. “Listen, Rauf. I don’t know what’s going on here but-“ 

His feeble attempt at negotiation was cut off as he was turned and slammed into a nearby tree, Rauf's meaty arm pressing against his throat and the gun to his temple with their faces barely centimeters apart. With fresh bruising and sporting a black eye it seemed Rauf was injured as well, so he hadn’t taken Altair by surprise and they had scuffled. It was easy to see how he had won. Rauf was a truck; relied on power, intimidation, muscle to get his work done. Altair worked more in the shadows and the silence and didn’t need bulk to succeed. It would have been a fight between a lion and a mouse. 

"You're damn fucking _right_ you don’t know what's going on here. Why do you have to screw everything? You screw up Altairs mission, you screw up his tactics and strategies and ideologies, you screw him," Each word accompanied by spittle and a harsher press against his windpipe, making Malik cough, "and now you show up here? What, do you just get off on fucking up his life?" 

Did assassins have a thing for choking people and asking questions at the same time? It seemed a huge flaw in their whole interrogation technique.

He grasped at his arm and struggled, a useless maneuver as Rauf did nothing but tighten the press, making it evident the questions were rhetorical. The man continued on. "If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have been sent to kill one of my friends. And he was my friend before he was your _cuddle buddy_ ," emphasis on those words, and had he the ability to Malik would have cringed, "So this hurts me a lot more than it does you. But don’t worry. You won't be around for it anyway. Thanks, by the way, for making your way out here – saves me the trouble of driving back to your place.’ "

The press of the gun to his temple was cold and made him swallow, mouth dry. This was it. Oh, sure, he'd thought that innumerable times over the past few weeks, but this moment was the real thing. He was going to die. He had a gun to his head, an arm to his throat, and he was seconds away from death. He had seconds to act. To fight back, to do...something. 

"Anything to say?" 

This moment felt calmer than his other brush with death, in the car, seemingly an age ago now. Though horrifically similar; a gun instead of a knife, an opportunity to beg- it was almost as if Malik was used to this by now. Used to being in this situation and used to having a heartbeat of a second to find something to keep himself living. 

It was a terrifying realization, if useful. Thanks, Altair, for what its worth. 

"Watch your footing.” 

Rauf realized too late what he meant as Malik had already swung his leg upwards, a perfect arc to slam his kneecap into the mans crotch with all of his oxygen-choked force. The force on his neck immediately lessened – if accompanied by a sudden spurt of spit in his face as rauf choked out in pain – and he pushed the man away, stumbling backwards and onto his ass as his hands searched for something, anything to defend himself with. He touched something cold, metallic, pulled it up in front of him as he kept his eyes on Rauf who was doubled over with a face bright red. 

Raufs gun. He must have dropped it when Malik had kneed him in his sensitive area. The man was beginning to collect himself, still bent but his face was beginning to resume its natural colour and his breath was slowing. Malik didn’t have enough time to find anything else, to run even. 

It was easy enough, right? Point and shoot. You just... point and shoot. And try not to hit yourself. 

Point and shoot. 

Rauf had just straightened enough to limp properly when he emptied the clip into his chest, having to scrunch his face as the shots made his ears ring and jerked his hand back. Two hits to the chest, one in the shoulder, and the rest in the trees surrounding. 

Not bad for a first time. 

" _Jesus christ_ -" He dropped the now empty gun and clutched his hand to his chest, clenching his index and middle finger in the other and clinging to it tight. He must have broken them when firing – how was he supposed to know how strong the recoil was? It wasn’t like he’d fired a gun before. 

Oh, but he had killed people before. He simply reveled in the fact that at least one of these incidents wasn’t new to him. 

He probably would have simply sat there clutching his hand if the relative quiet hadn’t been interrupted by a groan, and for a second Maliks heart stopped as he thought it was Rauf. But he was still lying on the road, a small pool of blood beginning to collect underneath his chest, unmoving. “Altair?” 

Still clutching his hand to his chest he shuffled over on his knees, probably ruining his jeans in the dirt and muck. At first, as no movement followed he began to think maybe he had just imagined the groan, but soon another followed and Altairs hand found its way to his chin. “fuck, my headear is killing me.” 

The laugh of relief that followed couldn’t be hidden, but made Altair look up and frown, then wince. “Glad to see my possible concussion is funny to you.” 

“Altair, that’s not what I….Oh, shut up. Ass.” He danced a touch over the wound, making him wince again and jerk back from his fingers. “Ouch. Heres a tip Malik, don’t touch open wounds. It hurts.” 

“You know what also hurts? Getting nearly choked to death and shot by your supposed ‘best friend.’ “ 

The response was met with a surprising amount of concern and movement that Altair shouldn’t have had the energy for. “You’re shot? Where? Wait, did you deal with Rauf? Are you okay? Malik why didn’t you-“ 

He interrupted him before he gave himself a brain aneurysm, pushing him back sitting down gently with his non broken hand. “I’m not shot, Altair. Nearly got shot. Like nearly getting choked to death.” 

“Oh.” The assassin sat back against the tree, still examining him for any injuries he might have lied about. “Well, you are covered in blood…” 

“Yours. And Raufs.” 

A hand drifted to Malik's shirt, fingers hooking over the collar. “Thank God for that. Kiss to thank you for saving my life?” 

It was Maliks turn to jerk back now, though not in pain but in belated disgust and shock. “What? No! I’m not going to kiss you – I’m covered in blood, for God’s sake! And you have a concussion!” 

“All the more reason to kiss me. I’m injured. I deserve a little sugar.” 

“No.” 

He used his grip on the collar to pull Malik closer, pouting. “please?” 

His frown met with puppy eyes and a contradictory cocky smile. 

Fucking hell. “fine.” 

Despite being covered in blood, despite having two broken fingers, despite having just killed someone and despite all of this happening while a car was crashed and burning in a tree barely two metres away from them, the kiss was still pretty damn nice. At least, it was until Altair ruined it by firing his gun centimeters away from Maliks ear. 

“Jesus – what the fuck, Altair? You asshole! I’m going to go fucking deaf!” He had jerked away as soon as the shot sounded and he slammed a hand against his ear, then yelped in pain as it was his broken hand. He could see Altairs lips moving but couldn’t hear anything but ringing, following his pointed finger instead. Followed it to the shockingly close body of Rauf, now lying on his side facing away from him with a small hole in the back of his head. He was closer. Wait, he had survived being shot three times by Malik? 

God, that man was a truck. 

“…distract you. I mean, seeing someone shot in the face is a sight even I’m grossed out by, and I’ve been doing this shit for like ten years now. Didn’t want you to see. But he was going to kill you, so I think it was justified.” His hearing was coming back now, and he realized Altair had been talking the whole time, turning back to him. 

“He was still _alive_?” 

He nodded. “double tap, Malik. It’s the first rule of shooting someone.” 

“You just stole that from that stupid zombie film with Bill Murray in it.” 

“No, double tap was the second rule. Rule one was cardio.” 

“I thought the third rule was avoiding bathrooms?” 

“No, that was- look, my point still stands! But…good job, anyway. It couldn’t have been easy, I mean shit, you just partially killed someone.” 

Malik sighed, moving back close, siting next to Altair against the tree and leaning on his side. “that doesn’t exactly help. But yes. I also broke my two fingers , which doesn’t make it better.” 

Altair slipped his arm around his shoulders, drawing him in closer and taking the broken hand and raising it to his lips. Tracing a path over the swollen digits with a small smile. “well, maybe we can get back that kiss. And more. With the fire, its actually kind of romantic.” 

“No. Absolutely not.” 

“Oh come on, I’m injured. I need the hormone boost.” A snicker. 

“We are barely meters away from two different bodies and both of us are injured.” 

“I think I found my kink. It’s you covered in blood after killing a homicidal maniac.” 

“Yeah, well there’ll be a second homicidal maniac dead soon if you don’t quit it. And help me get back to the car.” 

“Once in a lifetime opportunity lost, Malik.” 

He stood, offering a hand to help Altair up. “I’ve filled my quota of once in a lifetime opportunities for today, thanks.’"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A happy holidays to all!  
> My dearest apologies for the horrible delay. I had Final exams, and also quite recently a job, so my time has been filled with nothing but study and work. But i hope this chapter makes up for the wait ( i had a ridiculous amount of fun writing it ) and i promise to update more frequently in the future! 
> 
> Again, a hundred apologies, and even more to those whos writing ive also been reading and havent caught up on lately, comments ive replied to, or even new stories i have yet to read. Ill get right on that as soon as possible! I love you all and i hope you all have a great holdays, thank you for all of the kudos and the comments, they all mean so much to me you wouldnt believe!


	12. Small town, big secrets.

"No."

"Yes."

"Altair, no."

"Oh come on!" Altair fumbled with the radios buttons but kept his eyes on the road, trying in vain to select the option for his CD. "It’s a four hour drive! Roadtrips deserve good music and this is going to be the ultimate roadtrip."

Malik batted his hands away, keeping the radio firmly silent. "Am I travelling with a five year old? I'd rather you shoot me than subject me to...whatever you call good music."

He made a hurt noise. "Its not that bad. I got some David Byrne, Tears For Fears, a little bit of Queen, even some Springsteen and David Grey-"

"Oh God, just shoot me. Now. In the face. Please."

They turned a particularly sharp corner and the bickering paused for a moment, leaning in unison to the right as the car shuddered over a pothole. He wasn’t quite sure, at this point, what part of their journey was more dangerous – the rental car that was becoming more unstable by the minute and wouldn’t surprise him if it was held together with tape, or letting Altair choose the music.

At least if the car imploded, hed die quickly.

"Fine then, Mr 'my music taste is superior in every way', what do you like?"

Malik pursed his lips. Why tell a lie? "Im a musical guy. You know, Chicago, Les mis, Falsettos, Moulin Rouge, The Great Comet. Phantom's too whiny for me and Rocky horror just weirds me out though, honestly."

"Wait, Chicago? As in that one about the five chicks who murdered their husbands?"

A nod. "Four. One of them was innocent."

Altair whistled, eyes on the mirrors as they slowed down a slight to approach a hidden bridge. "Remind me to never marry you."

He snorted. "Im surprised you even know Chicago is something other than a city."

"You can get a lapdance in Brooklyn called the 'Cell block tango'." Altair shrugged. "I was curious about why and asked. Seriously though, who names a lapdance in a strip bar after a song about women singing how they killed their partners?"

In all honestly, he wasn’t surprised at that answer.

Malik didn’t deign to reply to such an atrocity of a statement, instead chose to change the subject.

"Remind me why im stuck in the car for five hours with you today?"

They hit a bump in the road and everything was airborne for a second, his hand close on the coffee cups resting between them and grateful for plastic lids. The road Altair had chosen to take was, apparently, a shortcut, but so wild and tangled it was almost like cutting through a jungle to avoid a desert.

A desert with reststops. A desert that didn’t have giant walls of stone at one side of the road that looked like they would collapse at any second, or a deathly drop a hundred feet downwards into impenetrable bush to the other. A desert that wasn’t like a scene out of every survival movie ever made at every turn.

Goddamnit, Altair, a desert with bathrooms.

"Because the next target is in the next city over. Still beachside though, so you can work on that great tan you got going there. Top quality. What sunscreen do you use?"

He rolled his eyes. "Great. Please don’t tell me we're going to be faking a shark attack."

Altair laughed at that, loud and genuine, drawing a rare smile from Malik. "You know, I actually thought about doing that. I did! But I cant hold my breath that long, so don’t worry. I got something much easier planned."

"Easy with you isnt exactly easy, Altair."  
He pursed his lips. "True. Does pushing a drunk guy off a pier and making sure he hits his head on the way down sound easy?"

A pause.

"...Yes. No matter how much it pains me to say, yes, it sounds easy."

"Good! Then you wont have any trouble pretending to be my fiance for the two days we're here."

"Wait, What?"

* * *

The scowl on his face – that he had decided to install as a permanent feature for this little holiday – could have melted the ice floating in his ignored drink.

"Oh, come on Malik, it wont be that bad." Altair tried to make peace, trying and failing to convince him that the pros in his ridiculous plan outweighed the cons. "Think of it as a...mini vacation! Just a vacation we take to...kill someone. It'll be relaxing!"

"Im not talking to you." He growled, arms folded tight over his chest, feet tapping at a erratic and uneven pace on the sand-infested cobblestones. It was too hot here. Too cheery.

He hated it all.

Bridgewall. That little seaside town you see destroyed from the inside in every crime serial, where everyone knows eachother and their mothers, where buildings were built of stone and wood and flowers were bundled bright and lively in window panes. A little piece of fifties coveted away from the rest of the world, a town where women still wore pale colored frocks everywhere and sunday mass wasn’t optional. Where the air smelt like nothing but sand and sea and icecream was sold on every street corner to families who come here for holidays in the summer.

He hated it all.

It was too fake. Too sweet and overdearing and too perfect. He hated the constant smiles, how everyone wanted to know every little detail about you the moment you drove through the rusty iron gates into the city that arched like the entrance to a graveyard - and what kind of town needed a guarded entranceway? Didn’t understand why the yellows and pinks in the windowside candy were too bright, or how the sun seemed to be constantly resting in the midday spot in the sky though he was sure at least an hour had passed.

Kadar would have loved it, though. It was his kind of place. Too many smiles and not enough sense.

"Malik, I swear to – well if youre not going to talk to me, could you at least listen to me?" Altair said, frustrated.

He didn’t respond, but his glare lessened, giving him permission. This would be fun to hear.

"We needed a cover, alright? And whats more conspicuous than just two random guys, with a shitty car and no hotel booked or anything, coming and staying in this shithole for two days – at the end of which someones going to end up dead?"

He quietened his voice as the waitress passed, tossing her a fake smile that only Malik could see through. "But a couple? A newlywed couple? We're the most innocent ones here."

It was...a fairly straightforward statement. And it made sense.

So why was he so uncomfortable with being called Altairs husband?

Altair reached out and touched his hand that was resting on the table, drawing him from his musing, making him look up to the assassin and frown losing its edge. "Look. Its just for two days, okay? We don’t have to go out often. You’ve got the reins for the whole trip."

And then he raised his knuckles to his lips, kissed them, made him flush in both embarrassment and surprise but didn’t pull his hand away. That was such an...un-altair thing to do.

What the fuck.

It wasn’t until he noticed the 'awws' and the cooing from the other admiring tables that he realized it was all for show.

Bastard.

He smiled, all teeth with no grin. "Of course, dear. How could I ever thank you enough?" Forced through.

Altair remained unfazed. "Sex later?"

"You fucking wish."

* * *

 

It was nearing dusk now and yet the little beachside town still remained incessantly hot. Malik was actually beginning to get concerned. Did it ever cool down here, or was it a constant barrage of heat waves and pounding sun no matter the hour? Would he be forced to endure whatever his hair had decided to do in this humidity for the next two days? How bad would his sunburn be?

Probably not as bad as whatever Altair would drag him along to next, that’s for sure.

He'd managed to escape for now, claiming he had been going stir crazy sitting in their little hotel room while he'd waited for Altair to come back after scoping out good surfing places. Instead, Malik had chosen to wander the paths and see the sights of this strange little cove; and, while he hadnt been surprised at how uniformingly boring and touristic it was, there were a few hidden gems here and there that he had pleasantly enjoyed finding.

He was thinking the little Mexican place that sat on the end corner of a beachside road for dinner tonight. It was run by the most immensely fat yet the loveliest German woman he'd ever met – yes, a German cook running an Mexican restaurant, he had been suspicious but they did damn good margaritas – along with her two daughters, cheap radio spouting fast paced Mexican rap onto the sidewalk and large (broken) Swiss windows where you could sit outside and eat in the sun. They didn’t do desserts though.

Maybe the Frozen yogurt factory? They had a little café opening hidden down an alleyway that had two for one deals on everyday except Tuesdays. Or they could swing by that dairy sandwiched between an op shop and an arts store to buy cheap candy and drinks.

The cobblestone pathways burnt his bare feet and he considered moving onto the sand, dashing the idea as it probably wouldn’t offer any relief. Sandals swinging losely from his hand and, thankfully his own, music playing through his headphones, the sun just shy of the horizon...

He had to admit, it was pretty picturesque. Malik could get used to this.

Until, of course, the small illusion of freedom was shattered with a hand slipped around his waist and lips pressed against his cheek paired with a daring and cheeky “miss me?”

The answer was no. He had not.

Malik groaned but made no effort to pull away, resolve against this whole façade crumbling as fast as the sun melted beyond the ocean horizon. “How did you even managed to find me? I thought I paid the hotel receptionist off.”

A snicker was his response. “You know receptionists. Loyal to the highest bidder.”

Altair shifted, moving his arm away from Maliks waist and instead linking their fingers together and swaying his hand a little as he walked. “Besides, I missed you. Life just isn’t the same with out your patronizing, disapproving and sexy glare, you know? I actually went a whole twenty minutes without being insulted. I was beginning to get withdrawal symptoms.”

That managed to draw a snort from Malik. “if it helps, youre still an idiot, and I still hate you.”

A sigh of relief. “Ah, there it is. I was on the verge of rehab, too.”

The two quieted, still walking the aimless path Malik had chosen and watching as the night sky drew darker with the sun slipping further and further out of sight. It was a good night for a walk; calm breeze to offset the heat of the afternoon that still lingered like a dog begging for scraps in the street, music from the inner city dying down as they reached the outskirts and started to walk along beach front houses rather than shops, each decorated in its own flourishing way be it colorful paint, murals, or flowers.

The place was growing on him. He wasn’t sure if it was the lazy, feelgood vibe that emerged in the early evening, or simply learning that the little village wasn’t all tacky dolls and old people, but it wasn’t actually as horrible as he had first pictured it to be. 

Or maybe it was just how, right now, he felt normal again.

If only for a brief moment, and still while knowing he would never truly be normal again, it was still a sweet feeling that he tried to cling to for a few seconds while it remained. He could almost mistake this walk for one he’d take with Kadar on some expensive, ridiculous vacation they couldn’t afford but took anyway – minus the murder, faked marriage, and romantic parts, of course.

Of course, he has to break the silence soon enough. He figured it be him, popping the question that had been rolling around in his head for a while now.  
“What…what’s going to happen after all this has finished?”

Altair glanced over to him, slightly confused. “What do you mean?”

Well, it wasn’t sarcastic or rude reply. That was a relief, at least.

“I mean after you’ve finished your contracts. You don’t live in my city, right? You have to go back home?” He paused, kicking away a stray shell that was sent threatening to cut his foot open. “I can’t come with you, so what’s going to happen to us?”

There was a telling pause in which neither spoke, quiet between them not tense but definitely thick with whirring thoughts from both sides.

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t.” Altairs response was paired with a shrug, Malik glancing over to see his gaze resting on his feet and watching each step he made. “I don’t want to leave, but I don’t have much of a choice. In the end, it’s…I’m going to have to pick between you and my job.”

He didn’t have to look up to see Altairs face, heard the worry in his voice, light and almost smothered beneath comforting tones. Squeezing his hand but not responding, unsure of how to anyway; how do you say sorry for a choice you want someone to make?

He wanted him to stay. He wanted him to stay. But he knew he’d feel guilty if he did. So, pretty much, he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Have Altair stay, but feel guilty for tearing him away from the only life he’s ever known; or have him leave, and have to deal with him being away for God knows long? And what if he dies, or gets hurt? Will he even know? Or just wait forever for someone who’s never going to come home?

“Can I get back to you on what I’m going to choose? I’m sure you can understand it’s a fairly big decision.” Altair said, interrupting his rather self absorbed musing. He hadn’t expected him to talk, simply nodded in response, ending the topic of conversation. It wasn’t a favorable one anyway.

They walked in silence for a while longer, circling their way back into the thicker part of the city, the night still warm though the sun had slipped hidden under the horizon and the nightlife slowly beginning to wake. A hidden beast, it’s claws the long shadows of the last bit of light seeping through trees and fences, eyes blinking alive in the form of fairylights and neon signs, tea lanterns and candles, the moon still too young to be seen but announcing it’s arrival with its entourage of stars. Contrasting music genres twirled together here with smells of street food and spice stalls to create a festive, foreign and exorbitant vibe. It was almost like they’d stepped through an invisible portal to a totally different city.

Musing past the stalls, not seeing anything appealing, Altair tugging him forward by his hand suddenly making Malik look to the place he’d spotted. It was almost impossible to see; a window, a narrow door, the sign edged in fancy metal and the name of the place, the long bar, written in old fashioned and fading paint. It seemed…quaint. That was a word for it.

“Here?” Malik spoke hesitant, disdain clear in his voice, suspicious of lack of customers and unsure whether that was because the locals steered clear of the place – surely for good reason – or if it’s stealthy position had hidden it from other potential buyers.  
Altair turned for him, nodded, brung him forward so both of their hands were linked. “let me take you out to dinner – a proper one, this time. No checking out targets. No talking about work. Just me, you, whatever kind of music they play in there, and a creepy waiter.”

Malik snorted at the last part but considered the offer. Well, he was hungry. And it didn’t seem like the worst place to eat.

Did this count as a date? Like, their first date?

By God, it was almost horrifyingly normal.

“Okay.”

* * *

 

Though seemingly desolate on the outside the restaurant was bustling near the back, the families and first dates all crowded around the single heater near the back, the doubled heat and warm glow from the open arch leading to the kitchen giving a cozy atmosphere that almost felt homely. They were seated almost immediately by friendly enough staff and given menu's, ordering drinks before being left alone as they attended to other customers.

By the time the drinks had arrived, they still hadn't talked. Not exactly an awkward silence, but not a comfortable one; neither sure of how to start a conversation without involving Altairs work or their future plans and fingers fiddling with the tablecloth. Living a life that was barely anything than a whirlwind of secrets, fighting, assassinations, sabotage... how can one make polite conversation in loom of that hanging above their heads?  


"Do you want to skip the small talk and head straight to sex?" Altair finally broke the ice in the most crude way possible, making Malik snort, shaking his head.

"Cant be small talk if theres no talk at all, Altair."

His partner nodded in consent, eyes peering upwards thought as if the plasterboard would hold all of his answers. "Fair enough. Alright, alright, lets make a proper conversation." He paused for a minute, considering his options as Malik watched in amusement, seemingly deciding on a question to ask and shifting his gaze from the roof. "You can't want to be a cab driver for your whole life. What did you plan to- what do you plan to be? Once you get away from whatever you were before?"

The question took him off guard; both because it was such a mature question coming from Altair, and also because he found himself struggling to respond. Almost like itd been rolling around on the tip of his tongue for a while, waiting for the right moment to ask Malik to make sure he'd actually answer.

"Why? You planning on recruiting me?" A snarky response to try and dodge the question, Altairs raised eyebrow making it clear it didn’t work. Of course it hadnt. What had he expected? "Well, I went to university studying Cartography for a while. Dropped out after I failed my second year. I suppose I could always go back to that – when I actually rake up enough money to pay for It, of course. Cant really think of anything else in my future."

"Cartography? As in making maps?" He sounded genuinely surprised. "I never pictured you for one to sit on his ass all day drawing and looking at screens, or... or whatever they do."

He rolled his eyes. "And I never pictured you having a soft spot for French animated movies. Yet, here we are." The friendly jabs earned them both grins, Altair giving a soft laugh. "Besides, there's something calming about it. Methodical."

"Was your teacher hot?"

He laughed. "Yeah - That too."

They relapsed back into silence for a few seconds before Malik spoke with a question this time. "You know, despite everything, I don’t actually know that much about you. Like...well, where are you from?"

The chair creaked as Altair leant back into it a little, the front legs lifting off the ground. "Syria, actually. But my mother was European, which explains all of... this." He waved around his face, gesturing to his skin tone. "And boy, let me tell you, that did not give me an instant popularity ticket at school."

"I can imagine. Suppose your rough, street-wise childhood lead you down the wrong path into life and you seeked to redeem your sins through military duty? You poor, tortured soul?" His words were laced with a bit of sting but Altair took them in stride, grin widening.

"The streets of Boston, yes – I moved there just after my dad died with his mom. And you can guess how popular the eleven year old Syrian boy was – and thus my career as a thief, saboteur, and just in general being a little shit began."

A waitress passed by at his last words and pulled a face, making them both snort. "Well, there goes our endless breadsticks."

Malik steered the conversation back to the topic before. "You know, just because you were bullied didn’t mean you had to adhere to the stereotypes. You push past them to prove you belong here."  
Altair considered his point, taking swig of his drink.

"See, what you're not thinking about is situations. You had parents, a brother, a stable household and family, you probably spoke English - I was living with a constantly sick seventy something Syrian woman who could barely afford to keep the apartment, let alone pay for her medication or to send me to school. Malik, you had a choice; I didn’t. If I had focused on my schoolwork and not working two jobs at twelve, stealing food from those shady downtown markets, learning English from street gangs that ruled our neighborhood," he swirled his drink around in his glass, watching the foam form patterns along the rim, "we probably wouldn’t have even been able to make it past our third year in America."

The table went quiet again as the mood grew somber.

"For what its worth, Altair, im glad you made it. Even if you did – if you were forced to take the... rather unethical route; im glad you're here. Especially here."

Altair didn’t respond there with words, simply a smile, hand resting on the table moving to rest on Maliks and stroke at the worn digits. He didnt move away.

This silence was nice.

* * *

Dinner had been boring.

Being pressed against the door of their hotel room the second they’d gotten back?

Better.

He hadn’t been given a warning but didn’t protest, Altairs hands already slipping under his shirt and lips on his neck. His own was fumbling with the belt on his pants, cursing the awkward buckle inwardly. Why did they make them so difficult to undo in all the moments they needed to be?

“Skip the Smalltalk and straight to the sex, huh?” He grinned in a winded voice, a small snicker from Altair and a noise that could be interpreted as a ‘yup’ as his hands shifted their grip to somewhere lower.

Somewhere lower and better.

They stumbled, a mess of lips and hands, their way to the bed; a typical stiff Mattress thing with itchy sheets and sad pillows – not that either of them really cared about the quality of their bedding right now. He cared more about how it felt to have Altair’s body pressed on top of and against his, how it felt to have his lips leaving hickies and bite marks all along his neck and upper torso, how it felt to-

Usually, when his phone rang during the middle of – or at least, during the beginning – sex, he hung up straight away. But when he pulled the phone from his back pocket of his jeans and saw Kadars contact photo, he wanted to scream.

“Altair? Altar -Alair, I need to take this. And it’s going to be a long call.” He sighed and rested his head back on the pillows with a thump, palming his face and unhooking his legs from Altairs back. The blonde looked up frustrated at first before seeing the phone, then moved up onto his knees. “Is that your brother?”

"You guessed it. And we haven’t called in like a week, so he’s going to have way too much to talk about.”

He folded his arms, glaring at the phone almost with daggers, before rubbing his face and getting away off the bed. “By the time you’ve finished it’ll be time to leave – I’m going to go have a shower.”

Malik rolled to his side, the phone still ringing, planting a kiss on Altairs lower back as he sat on the bed. “Thank you.”

“Malik? Thanking me? It is a rare day.” A jive from Altair who got up with a grin, heading to the bathroom with a wink before closing the door behind him.

The phone was still buzzing and Malik was beginning to hate the ring tone, finally pressing the answer button and pressing the screen to his ear with a frown. “Kadar, you better have a damn good reason to be calling me right now.”

“Malik! It’s been so long! Don’t tell me you didn’t miss me!”

He turned back onto his side and couldn’t hide the little smile that grew, knowing Kadar could see right through his growl. “How’s the trial going? Are you behaving?”

“Oh, Malik it was great! Well, I mean, not for the guy on trial, of course – it was barely a trial really with all of tbe evidence piled against him – but it was even better for me because we wrapped it up early! Im flying back home tomorrow!”

Malik sat up, reaction immediate. “What? Tomorrow? You’re flying back tomorrow?”

Kadars voice faltered on the other end of the line. “Yeah – why? Is everything okay over there – did you get hurt or something? Or did-“

He cut him off before Kadar could keep rambling worried. “No, no Kadar – everything’s fine. Everything’s…normal.” His eyes trailed to the bathroom door, listening to the shower run and cringing inwardly at the lie. ‘normal’ did not lie beyond that door. “I was just surprised. That’s all.”

The sigh of relief was practically echoed around the room. “Oh, okay. I’ve missed you, you know – it’s been weird not having every decision I make criticized and patronized all the time.”

A snort. “That’s all I’m good for and you know it. Don’t deprive me of my one joy.”

Kadar laughed, the phone making it sound tinny but still making him smile as he’d forgotten how joyful of a sound it was. “I wouldn’t dream of it, brother. Now go enjoy your day while I sleep – I just figured you’d want to know I’d be crashing home soon.”

“Thanks – even if you did ruin my night. Call me when you get into the airport and when you land?”

He heard rustling on the other side, Kadar shifting in bed. “of course- have I ever told you that you worry too much?”

A familiarized phrase by now.

“I like to think I worry enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who went on a three week holiday overseas and came back to find her laptop, with the only copy of this chapter ( because she doesn't back her stuff up online like an idiot ) had broken and lost all of the files?  
> You guessed right! It's me ! You get the fruit cup!  
> As you can imagine, that pretty much got rid of all of my motivation for writing anything - for a long, long time. Add on top of that multiple catch up exams and an increasingly complicated number of issues in my personal life - and you've got no chapter updates for months.  
> Until now ! Yes! Haha!  
> I greatly apologize for how long this took, and at the quality of it. I'll try and touch it up in the coming weeks. I also apologize for not really replying to all of your absolutely wonderful comments here; I love every single one of them, and you have no idea how much they mean to me. 
> 
> Again, I greatly apologize from the bottom of my heart how long this took, and I hope you haven't lost interest in this fic. I've nearly finished it too! I promise! If anyone is still reading this; thank you. So much, thank you.


	13. You gotta die sometime

It had actually been their easiest target so far. 

They'd barely even needed to get involved; Sibrand was as drunk as a skunk wandering down the pier, Altair even betting on whether or not they actually have to push him or if he'd fall in himself. In the end it turned out Altair's backup plan worked without them having even to get near the guy – he just tripped over the plank of wood like it was a tripwire and tumbled headfirst into the waters of the wharf, his head striking the side of the cargo ship docked with a large and unruly metallic  _thunk_ _._ They simply stood back and watched. 

How drunk does a guy have to be? 

Both of them crashed the second they reached their hotel room, Altair not even making it to the bed and simply falling to his knees on the floor, accepting his fate. Malik, with a little more dignity and energy fueled by being the sober 'driver' at dinner, managed to stumble his way to the bed and face planted against the stale-smelling pillow before passing out seconds later. 3 am was their limit – were they getting old? Maybe. Were they freezing from waiting four hours out by the docks for Sinbad to lurch his way home? Possibly. Were they frustrated at getting cockblocked by Malik's brother hours earlier? Definitely.  

And that’s how they sat, verging half twelve in the morning, together at one of the tables in the breakfast buffet getting dirty looks by hotel staff for coming in so late and holding up their cleaning.  

Fuck their cleaning. Malik needed coffee. 

He rested his mug down, cheek resting against his fist with his elbow on the table and eyes closed. His hangover was nothing compared to Altairs – who was busy chowing down on a slightly damp croissant across from him – but it was strong enough to make the back of his head throb and the fluorescent lights hurt his eyes. Who even keeps lights on when it's like 30 degrees outside with no clouds? Do these people have no concept of being environmentally friendly?   

When he nearly ended with a face full of coffee he decided to change positions to stop falling asleep – squinting against the harsh light with fuzzy vision and Altair slowly becoming a clear image in front of him. He was sporting the same pose – cheek pressed against his face, a red mark forming from the pressure, but instead of his eyes being closed they were open and lidded, trained on Malik with a half secret smile flickering. 

"I got something on my face?" Malik's voice was barely a mutter, too tired for snark or slicing words. Altair shook his head and the grin remained. 

"I was just thinking about how you're crazy. Seriously, one hundred percent crazy. And how much I l love it." 

A disbelieving snort from Malik. "I'm the crazy one?" 

Altair lifted his head, giving a half nod, smile still stable. "Think about it. This is my  _job_ , killing people-" the last words said in sort of hushed whisper, but even at this point he was too tired to care who heard - "but you? You're just some crazy, handsome taxi driver who's stuck along for the ride. Even shot someone, no less. You'd  _have_ to be crazy to have dealt with everything you’ve been through the past three weeks and still be sane." 

His smile was contagious and along with those words, Malik felt one of his own creeping, a light laugh that was more breath and entangled with his expelling words slipping out. "Maybe I'm just in it for the sex." 

Altair joined his laugh. "That, or maybe you were never sane in the first place." 

"I wouldn’t mark it down as an impossibility." 

Their airy laughter faded after a few seconds, lingering, the mood light and sweet and Malik clung to the last strands of normality that surrounded them. Soon, they'd be back home; Altair would finish his last target, he'd go back to...whatever country he had come over from, Malik would go back to his taxi job...and sure, things would be normal again, but it wouldn’t be quite the same. He wouldn’t be able to pass El Frescos without wondering who owned it now, if they still served the same meals they got together, or if it was even open at all. His nights would pass by empty and quiet and alone, his bed achingly cold and though perfect before now seeming too large a space for only one person. Nothing could be normal again – but did he really want it to be? 

"Maybe I could come with you." It was a suggestion and thought drawn from nowhere, Maliks fingers tracing the scars along the back of Altairs palm. A soothing distraction. 

"What?" 

"I could come with you. After your job here finishes. It's not like I have anything waiting for me here – what, my brother? My shitty taxi cab job? They're not exactly reasons  _not_ to leave." 

Sorry, Kadar. You'd do okay on your own for a while. Of that, Malik had no doubt – he wouldn’t even be surprised if his little brother didn’t notice he was gone - working in law was an exhausting, tedious process, especially when you're the youngest lawyer on the block eager to prove yourself. Though he had to admit that the long hours Kadar worked paid off, despite meaning he could go without seeing a single person for days on end and not even care. 

There was a silence between them, pondering, his fingers still stroking rhythmically and Malik content to wait. It was a big decision. He shouldn’t have made it so irrationally. Maybe it was the hangover - maybe he was just tired of being so scared of losing him – maybe he was in love- 

It was the hangover.  

Silence wasn’t broken by words but by the quiet rasp of moving skin against wood, Altair moving his hand to instead trap Malik's fingers and join them together. His words were hesitant on his tongue but there, piling like water behind a dam, and he could see the worry clear in his eyes unhidden. "Malik, I really don’t think that’s the best-" 

"Why not?" He spilled forward before Altair had a chance to finish. "Why - I really don’t see the reason not. I won't be in your way – ill just live in the same city as you, travel with you when you have jobs – it’s the perfect cover, think about it! You're not a lone guy we're a  _couple_ , that’s - isn't that exactly what you were telling me today? How good of a cover is it?" 

His partner seemed almost lost for words so he pushed forward, eager to persuade him. "Altair,  _please_ , I want to  _stay_ with you, if you just -" 

Altair interrupted him with a hushed whisper and a glance to the staff at the side, who were watching their conversation with frowns but well-hearing ears. "Malik, please, be quiet – it’s a complicated situation, me and you, maybe this is best saved for the car, okay, besides I actually have something to tell-" 

"Be quiet?  _Complicated_? Since when have we-" He was almost offended at the ask, frown forming deep and hot. "Are you – best saved for the  _car_? If you want to end things just say it and don’t play fucking coy!" 

The words were spat and it wasn’t just the staff whose attention they were drawing now, passers by turning their head to watch the potential fight. Malik didn’t care. He didn’t care about any of them. 

"That’s not what I – Malik  _please_ ," A desperate plea falling on deaf ears. Malik powered through regardless of Altairs worries.  

"Saved for the car? What bull-shittery is that – you want to discuss this when we  _leave_? When you're only here for one more day? You're just avoiding confrontation oh my god - You know what-" As the implications formed in his head Maliks anger got more heated, making him stand with his chair pushing back in an agonizing screech and Altair giving a small start, watching him with wide eyes. "Let's go to the car. Right now. You want to talk there? Let's fucking talk." 

Altair went to protest but their hands were linked and he couldn’t stop Malik from dragging him away, back to the hotel reception. He threw down the keys on the bench to the startled and undeserving of his rage receptionist, ignoring Altairs claims of leaving their bags in the room and shot her a fake smile, pulling again at Altairs hand and dragging him from the hotel. 

"At least let me drive!" 

 

The first ten minutes of the drive was sat in hot and uncomfortable silence.  

Altair kept tapping his fingers on the steering wheel nervously, avoiding eye contact and focusing on the road rather than Maliks quietly boiling over rage. A smart choice. Sadly not one he was smart enough to keep on doing.  

"You're totally overreacting-" 

"Oh don’t you even fucking start-" Malik didn’t even let him finish his sentence. "I'm overreacting? Please! Tell me how! Tell me how I shouldn’t be upset in this situation!" 

Altair frowned, knuckles on the wheel turning white as his grip tightened. "You said you would give me time to think about decisions – then you start yelling at me for offering my opinion that you clearly asked for? In the middle of the hotel lounge? What the hell were you thinking?" 

"Oh, that 'I need time' excuse is bullshit, Altair." Malik turned in his seat so he could face him driving, Altair still avoiding looking anywhere near his direction. "You just don’t want me with you, do you? Don’t lie to my face and just tell me! Tell me you don’t want to continue this!" 

He got a bitter and almost cynical laugh in return, Altair finally meeting his eyes, fire against flame. "What the fuck is your problem, Malik? I never said any of those things! Oh my god I can't believe - I want you with me! I just don’t think considering how dangerous my job is that it’s the best idea!" 

If he could physically throw his hands to the sky, he would have. "Oh, so now we're back at this. Wrapping me up in bubble wrap. I don’t need to be fucking  _protected_ , Altair -" 

"Well evidently you do when this is how you react to me just saying 'hey maybe you should stay home'! How are you going to be if I kill someone you like, huh? Or if I get injured and go missing for a few weeks? Are you gonna blame that on me too?" 

The words were scornful and mean but it only fueled Malik's anger more, a small part in his head telling him to  _calm down, talk it out, this_ _isn't_ _going to lead anywhere good_ – but he ignored it and powered through. "If you're going to talk about how I'm feeling why don’t you consider my feelings when you're away, huh? How would I know if you died? Or got injured? How would I know you're not fucking some blonde beach bimbo down in Sydney? I don’t want to be some weeping widow waiting for you to come back from war!" 

A hurt noise came from Altair in response, something like the sound a puppy would make if you kicked it, and for a second Malik lessened and backed off. Too far. "Oh, now you're turning to accusing me of cheating. Real nice Malik, real  _fucking_ nice." 

"I'm not accusing you of cheating, Altair, I'm just-" He tried to patch what he had said but it was too late. 

"No. I'm done arguing. You're not coming. You're not going with me when I leave, you're not coming on this last target. Not if you think I would ever do that to – I can't believe I was even considering It, letting you come, I can't believe I was even thinking about telling you about – fucking hell." 

Fuck. 

 _Fuck_.  

He knew, he knew Altair would never do that, the words just – they had just slipped out of his mouth in the heat of the moment, his insecurities and his worries just piling together and spit out in his fit of rage not caring it wounded the person he was aiming at. He fucked up.  

He couldn’t stop. Not now. He  _had_ to fix things. 

His eyes had zeroed in on his notebook sitting in their cup holder and before he had even formed a coherent idea his hands had snatched it, pressing the leather-bound pages tightly to his chest. Altair glanced at the movement, just a second, then turning his full gaze to it, cold but angry and even...fearful? 

What was Altair so afraid of Malik seeing in this book? 

"Give it back."  

Malik shook his head, pressing his lips together and the book tighter to his chest. "All of your targets are here. You're useless without them. Maybe I'll just, I'll throw it out the window, or read it, or, or -" He had no idea where he was going with this. 

"Malik. Give me the notebook back. We can talk about this." The change in demeanor scared him. How could he calm down within a matter of seconds? How could his mood change so suddenly, from crackling anger and raw hurt to this solid stone of a man? 

What was in this book? 

"Altair, I just...Please, if you'll just hear me out-" 

"The  _book_ , Malik." 

He looked down at it in his hands, leather worn and old and faded, cracked in places, the button keeping it closed no longer crisp to snap. It seemed a pathetic little thing for Altair to want it so badly. What could even be the big deal? Targets? Maybe he wrote stuff about Malik inside? 

 _"Malik."_ His tone had shifted again, now to one of almost begging, hand outstretched and trying to grab it but Malik keeping it too close to reach. He wanted to read it. Maybe if he read it he'd understand. Maybe he'd understand why Altair was like this. Why he didn’t want him to stay. 

Malik flicked open the pages. 

He saw it was going to happen but it was almost like in a dream, too impossible, too  _insane_ to be true; Altair yanking the steering wheel as far to the left as it would go, not even hesitating, the car shuddering at both the violence of the act and its unwillingness to turn so quickly. Seconds passed in slow motion. The stone mountain wall Altair had swerved them into was both a mile and a mouse length away, he could see it racing towards them but could make out almost every crack and crevice and weed in the surface they would crash into. Seconds became eternities too short for him to even make a sound. 

The front of the car crumpled like a can under a boot, Malik's head slammed against the dashboard, and he didn’t have to worry about eternities anymore because everything was suddenly black. 

 

* * *

 

 

It was the sound of voices that eventually drew him awake, not that he wanted to be – his pounding headache and a piercing, agonizing pain in his left shoulder making him want to escape back into the blissful oblivion of sleep. What even happened, did he drink too -  

Memories that came rushing back hurt his head more and Malik groaned, peeling his face away from the plastic dash and pressing his hands to his temples. His shoulder screamed in pain but he ignored it, massaging the skin, pulling his hands away when he felt his fingers slide and smelt that metallic scent of blood. 

Shit. This would leave a scar. 

It had taken him too long but he finally forced his eyes open, squinting. Smoke was rising from the crumpled bonnet of their rental car and Altair was gone – the drivers seat sat empty though miraculously rather unscathed, leaving him to ponder the question of  _where the fuck was he._  

He wouldn’t have just...left him here, right? Bleeding and injured? 

 _You did just accuse him of having the motive to cheat on you._  

That doesn’t make it right to effectively try and kill someone. 

He went to kick open the door but felt something slide between his knees to the floor with a light thunk, wincing at the noise too loud for his aching head but picking it up anyway. Altairs notebook. Altair had left him bleeding at a car crash site – a car crash he had caused by literally driving them into the side of the mountain – and he hadn't even taken the most important possession of them all? The one he had literally just crashed their car to try and stop him from reading?

What the fuck was in this book? 

His fingers were trembling as he unclasped it – though whether that was from shock or fear, he had no clue – and he fumbled his way through the pages, names crossed and double crossed that had no meaning to him, some doodles here and there. Nothing conspicuous. Nothing worth risking  _death_ for. 

Malik reached the last worn and written on page before fresh new clean ones started and paused, scanning the text, recognizing the names now. Majd Addin. Williams. Abu'l. Targets they had picked off one by one as the two weeks passed. All ten of them. Only the last one remained uncrossed, the one they would have done today, the one Malik hadn't had time to -  

No. 

 _No_. 

 _“One of the witnesses got himself killed, so they had to cut down to half the time.”_  

 _A small alarm bell went off in the corner of_ _Malik's_   _mind, a bell quickly smothered and forgotten, shoved aside because the very reason it was going off was_ _ridiculous_ _._ " _How’d_ _he_ _manage_ _that? Someone with enough cash to hire a contract killer?”_  

 _“Not as exciting as that,_   _unfortunate_ ly.  _Unless this contract killer pushed him in front of the car he got run over by.”_  

The last target name read  _Kadar Al-_ _sayf_ _._  

 _“Going to another c_ o _untry for two weeks on a court case where I don’t have to do anything, and still get paid for it? Most definitely.”_  

Memories were piling on him and he could feel his heart breaking. 

 _"_ _I’m only here for two weeks, but I need to get ten hits done. Easy.”_  

Maybe Altair didn’t know. Maybe Altair didn’t know Kadar was his brother. 

 _“Wait, how did you_ _-“_ _A smirk from Altair, his eyes rolling."It says so on that little plaque above your_ _rear view_ _mirror. ‘Hello, I am Malik Al-_ _sayf_ , _I have been with this company since 2011. Nice to meet you.” A disbelieving snort. "Nice to meet you, my ass. Should have gotten a refund for rude_ _behavior_   _.”_  

He had known it was Kadar calling last night even when Malik had never even mentioned his brother before. 

Altair had known.  

Altair had known the whole  _fucking time_ his last target would be Malik's brother. 

His fingers were numb. Everything was numb. The book dropped from his hands and hit the floor but he didn’t even hear it, white noise filling his ears. Malik felt a touch on his shoulder, ignored it, ignored and didn't protest at the arms pulling him out of the vehicle that he now saw had begun to flame. People in the sickly green uniforms of paramedics talked to him but the words simply bounced away.  

Altair had known.  

Malik felt a blanket wrapped around his cold shoulders as he was lead into the back of the ambulance with a body full of lead and a heart not wanting to admit the truth. He simply watched, unblinking, unthinking as the team packed away, watching the flames spread to the rest of the car, Altairs book by now ashes to be blown away by a wind more forgiving than Malik himself. 

Altair had known.  

People kept talking, talking, talking to him, too many people, too many words, his brain full of static and aching. Someone put a gauze against the cut on his forehead and pulled away his shirt to tape his shoulder. He let them. He didn’t care.  

This time when he was made unconscious, it was from the drugs they gave him, not from being in a car crash. 

 

* * *

 

 

He'd miss this place. 

Altair stood in the middle of Malik's apartment – their apartment, really, considering all of the highs and lows they'd shared together here – duffel over his shoulder and looking at all of the surroundings he'd miss. It seemed too quiet here, now, without him, the sounds of the streets below him trickling through the open window he had snuck through since Malik still had the keys. 

He hoped Malik would be okay. Not mentally, obviously; he was scared to even think of who was going to take the brunt force of his explosion when he woke up, thankful It wouldn’t be him, though it was a bittersweet relief. Of course, he had stayed with him at the crash until the ambulance arrived but it still wasn’t a definite comfort – what if he had a serious head injury? He'd been cut, sure, but it was bleeding pretty badly and Altair had been too afraid to stop it in case that meant the doctors underestimated the wound. Or his shoulder? What if they had to amputate? What if -  

 _Stupid_. Doctors don’t amputate for dislocated limbs. 

Do they? 

 _No_. Of course not. That’s stupid. 

How do you know? 

He found himself fumbling for his phone to open up google and search for 'do you have to amputate limbs if they're left dislocated long enough', stopped, frustrated, shoved his phone back in his pocket. Malik wasn’t his problem anymore. He didn’t need to worry or care. Not after what had happened...before. 

Yet he still felt that sickly cold worry in the pit of his stomach, making him antsy and his fingers ache for something to fiddle with. Too many questions about him, God he hoped he was okay, he  _needed_ him to be okay -  

No. Focus on the job at hand. You know what you have to do. 

Even if Malik will never forgive you for it. 

Altair took one last look around the room of the apartment, reminiscing and nostalgic, before heaving his duffel more fittingly over his shoulder. He slipped the gun into his pockets, hidden, and clicked the door shut behind him.  

Thoughts turned to Malik to keep him warm in the cold night air.   

 

* * *

 

 

Soft beeping and the overwhelming smell of disinfectant welcomed him back. 

He  _hated_ hospitals.  

The moment Malik realized he was awake he tried to move, to get up, failed with a groan, falling back on the bed and pressing his hands against his eyes that thumped with his heartbeat. 

"You're lucky, you know." 

A condescending tone that Malik immediately hated. He squinted open his eyes to find a doctor the source, a wire mustache perched over smirking lips. Wasn’t it a general rule for hospitals to have nice, semi-attractive doctors? Not ones you would never trust to babysit your children? 

"The car went up in flames barely seconds after they pulled you out. You could have been dealing with a whole other set of even worse injuries right now." Writing something down on his little notepad. He reminded him of a weasel. 

"I need to leave." Malik's voice was croaky, dry, broken. Loud enough to make the doctor turn in surprise. 

"Well, you can't. We need to keep you in here for a couple of days to monitor your head injury and keep you going to physio for that arm." He gestured towards Malik with his pen, himself noticing now the shoulder was tightly wrapped in gauze and tape. "You dislocated it and damaged a couple of muscles pretty good. Hope you're not an avid tennis player." A hearty chuckle that made Malik shudder.  _Gross_. 

"No, I  _need_ to leave. Right now." What didn’t he understand? 

"You  _need_ to rest. I'll get a nurse to phone your family, don’t worry about that – just settle back. Get some more sleep." 

Malik watched him leave with a deep frown, hauling himself up and out of the bed the second he was gone. 

Sneaking out of a hospital wasn’t the worst thing he'd done.  

He had slept several hours; it was now just after midnight, the sky outside of his hospital room window dark aside from the glow from streetlights and passing cars. Altair – Altair... 

Was he too late? 

No. Altair had always said this would be a late mission. A two am mission. Kadar got back at one on his flight, and he would stop by his office first to drop off his papers, he'd probably still be there by two... 

Kadar.

He needed to save Kadar. 

He made a couple of shaky steps, getting better with each one. Socked feet slipped silently across the tiled floor, a few tumbles but he regained his balance without falling. By the time he made it down the hallway, he'd be walking just like a normal person again. 

A normal person about to murder their lover.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys oh my god you have no idea how loNG ive waited for this chapter.  
> Which is actually kind of ironic because its actually been you, waiting, but seriously this was one of the first chapters i had planned from the start and its so GOOD to finally write it!!!
> 
> Its also been hilarious watching some of you keep asking "whats going to happen to Kadar???" and "when does Kadar get back ilhsm" because i just sit there laughing because i knew EXACTLY what was going to happen. This twist has been planned from the start.  
> EDIT;: I just went back and re-read all the comments you've left ( bc i love u all and it gets me motivation) and oh my God I am HOWLING at all the comments you guys have left over the chapters asking about Kadar and hoping he's gonna be okay, I am so sorry but this is actually making me laugh so much I'm,,,, so s o r r y
> 
> Two more chapters!! Well, one, then a prologue. I seriously can't believe this fic is nearly finished....my baby....my one true love....  
> Im gonna miss you guys. Seriously. 
> 
> (ok ill stop now but!!!! thank you guys for all the kudos and comments, i love you all from the bottom of my heart and im sorry i take so long updating chapters but we're nearly there!! so close guys!!! i love you all so much!!!)


	14. Bloodstains on the blue mink carpet.

He shuffled the papers into neat piles on his desk, crisp and clean, clearing off space for the briefcase that rested at his feet. Below him, seen through the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined his offices walls, the city lit by streetlights and neon signs flickered and pulsed, adrunken shouts and car horns and blaring music muffled but loud enough to provide a background theme tune to hs work. The rest of his floor was empty and the only light that glowed on his fingers typing away was his faded, slowly dying pink desk lamp – a birthday present from a long forgotten party. A joke present, really. Malik had never really been the type for sentimental gifts. 

Kadar paused, gaze shifting from his work to the clutter on his desk now, distracted by memories that made him grin. The single photo frame that rested there - beaten up and worn by now – showed them together, possibly the only photographic evidence of Malik smiling; his eighteenth birthday party. 

Well, not so much as a birthday party but more of a ‘Malik being relieved they could finally go out and get hammered legally, so let’s go to every bar in town and see how much we can drink before passing out’ sort of gig. They lasted four. The picture depicted them around bar no 2, Kadar with his arm draped drunkenly over his shoulders and Malik laughing at the fact he’d just split beer all over himself. 

Six years. It felt like sixty. 

He dragged himself back into his work, knowing if he continued to reminisce in memories he’d be here all night. He only had a couple of more references to make, a couple of more fact sheets...he’d be out of here but 4am, tops.  

Maybe he’d surprise Malik with 4am coffee and bagels. Malik would be pissed at first, of course – but the bagel bribe coupled with stories of the Incestuous family he’d roomed with in the hotel and the dog with one leg that stole bones from the mortuary would soon win him over. That, and brotherly love. 

If Malik still felt anything resembling love in his cold, stone heart.  

Probably not. 

Kadar snorted at that, then turned back to his papers. Few more papers; then freedom. 

And bagels. 

 

Elevator cameras were easier to turn off than stairwells, and the shafts were easier to escape in. Plus, he was better at fighting in confined spaces anyway – and being flanked was a death trap. 

He checked the gun in his pocket for the third time, mentally slapping himself at the nervous tic. He knew it was there, he knew the safety was locked on, he knew it was fully loaded. Stop checking and pretending it’s a justifiable time waster. 

The elevator doors finally slid open and Altair stepped inside, pressing the button for the fifth floor and a sharp  _di_ _ng_  signifying his choice. Turning off the buildings cameras had been easy, too easy actually – it was almost sad just how ridiculously simple it was to fake a burnt fuse – wasn’t this supposed to be the headquarters for a multi-million dollar law firm? Why the hell was the security room protected by a  _padlock_  that wasn’t even locked?  

Well, yes, it did take him seven lock picks to break into the stairwell that  _lead_  to the security office. But still. Shit security. Of course, turning off the cameras had also messed with the rest of the electronics system; don’t ask him how or why, he wasn’t an electrician, but now the lights were all haywire and the lift was having a seizure and running slower than a marathon runner with a broken leg. Probably because a lot of the cameras were light sensitive and activated different settings depending on times and lighting. 

Speak of the devil: lift just opened three floors early. 

For God’s sake. 

He sighed and pressed the fifth floor button again, slipping his hands back into his pockets and feeling the metallic touch of his gun. The rest he’d left in his duffel just at the bottom of his stairs. No point in taking them with him – they’d just slow him down, and he needed to be fast. Get what he needed and get out of there. Hopefully he wasn’t too late. 

Thoughts turned back to Malik. They made him fiddle with the trigger and pull loose lining from the inside of his pockets. 

He had called the hospital, and they had told him he was stable, that he was okay, that he hadn’t been seriously injured, and asked when he would come in – at which he had hung up. Malik was still sleeping off the drugs. Hopefully he would still be asleep by the time he was done. 

He hoped he would forgive him. 

He knew he wouldn’t, but he still hoped. 

Malik was judgemental, cold, assuming, vicious, hot-headed, and unrelenting  - but he was so also smart.  So,  _so_ smart – and admirable. He walked with his head held high and he was deserving of his pride. He made mistakes and he, with some reluctancy, owned them. He was forgiving.  _Sort of._  

And he was kind. And sweet. And got flustered easily. 

 _Hey now. Don’t go_ _t_ _elling yourself_ _those lies._ _Better to remember him for who he was – flaws and all – than remember and keep loving a lie._  

The lift clicked open into the fifth floor. 

 

It felt cold and heavy in his hands. 

Heavier than the last time – though he was sure it was the same gun. Positive. It rested the same against his palm and Maliks fingers ached beneath the bandages just at the sight. 

He didn’t want to be holding it. Wished it away. Wished he could press his eyes closed and, that when he opened them, he’d be in his bed home and none of this had ever happened.  

That was a lie. 

Malik wanted to be home, in bed, with Altair, like Kadar had never been in his list and he had decided to stay. Not worrying about if Kadar was dead already, or rubbing his injured shoulder That kept shooting pains down his side, just at home lying in bed together, probably with him reading and Altair joking about the way the author had written a certain stanza. He wanted everything to be normal – or as normal as you can get now.  

But it couldn’t be. 

 _Get over it. Get it done with. Save your brother._  

Malik swallowed and clenched the gun more tightly  in his hands, holding it properly now. He knew Altair was in the building – he’d gotten the gun he held now with white knuckles from the duffle bag he’d left on the first floor. Altair would have taken the lift so, stairs it was. They were quieter and he could sprint up them anyway.  

Five floors. Five floors of his feet ringing against the metallic stairs and bouncing back against grey, dead concrete walls, left alone to nothing but his thoughts and his slowly increasing heartbeat. 

He was going to do it. He was going to save his brother and kill Altair. 

He was going to shoot Altair until he was dead, because that was what it would take to save his brother. 

He was going to kill Altair.  

He was  _going_  to  _kill_ Altair.  

The phrase sounded wrong, foreign, cold and sharp in his head, and he repeated it over and over to try and get it to sound right but only succeeded in making his palms sweat and his breath shake. Malik wouldn’t have even  _considered_  thinking this not even a day ago; and now it was a reality, a terrifying  situation for him to resolve - was this how Altair felt with every target? Did his feet weigh him down like his shoes were filled with lead? Did his heart beat so loud in his ears that he could hardly hear his own raspy, Panicked breathing through the rush of blood? Did tears prick at his eyes for no reason and cause his chest to tighten and short, bursting sobs to break free of his pressed lips? Did his whole body shake like he had pneumonia? 

Malik had to stop for a second, rest against the cold wall to his side and wipe his eyes dry. Any more and his already weak legs would have collapsed beneath him. 

 _Just breathe._  

(Every second you waste is another second your brother is dead.) 

 _Breathe._  

(This is all your fault. He’s dead because of you.) 

 _Breathe and slow your heart._  

(He’s dead and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.) 

“Shut up!” Words burst out of him and echoed around in the stairwell, his pathetic plea for silence returned back to him taunting and mocking and heard only by himself. His knuckles were digging into his eyes and the kaleidoscope of colours was calming. Malik watched the dull lights move in spherical, geometrical patterns, weirdly fascinated, and felt his breath slowly return to its normal pace and the tight binds on his chest loosen. 

 _You’re okay._  

 _You’re fine._  

 _You need to finish this_. 

Malik swallowed, wiped his face, pushed himself off the wall and back up the stairs.  

Two more floors. Just two more floors. 

 

From the back, he looked just like Malik.  

Altairs feet were silent on the expensive wooden floor, Kadar still oblivious to his presence just a few steps away from him. He was hunched over a laptop, eyes glued to the bright screen, at least eight documents open and all a minimum of eight pages long. Impressive. A Shitty pink lamp on his desk kept flickering and created a very horror-esque vibe, the silence only broken by keys being pressed and the too-cold AC humming. He was almost tempted to yell ‘boo!’ and grab him by the shoulders. 

Bad idea. Funny, but bad idea. 

His fingers clasped the trigger tightly, raising the gun so it was aimed just the back of his head. His head that was covered in thick, dark and rough hair, all too familiar, and he knew if he ran his hands through it that the would feel exactly the same as it did when he shifted strands from Maliks face as he slept. He licked his lips, ready, steadying the aim and rehearsing his lines over and over again. It was then he did something that, throughout his entire career as an assassin, he had never done before. 

He hesitated.  

The hesitation cost him seconds. Seconds that let Kadar choose to go to the bathroom and swivel around on his chair with a sigh, eyes Suddenly widening at the sight of Altair – or, to him, a stranger with hard eyes and a fresh bruise Purpling a large portion of his forehead – aiming a gun at his face with his fingers inches off the trigger.  

Kadar didn’t have the slow reaction times of his brother. 

“Wait, Kadar, if you just – Kadar !” Altair burst out but he was too late, the lawyer having shoved himself to the side and through to the next cubicle, cheap paper that separated the desks tearing easily and hiding him from Altairs view. He could hear him stumbling, out of that cubicle now, to the hallway, running for the elevator.  

Fuck. 

Fuck! 

“Kadar!” He turned on his heel and sprinted after him, not bothering to put the gun away and running with it still clenched in his hand. 

“How do you know my name?! What do you want from me!” Kadar was running clumsily and Altair spotted him as he rounded a corner, pushing him off the walls he kept running into and trying not to fall as he leant forward, unbalanced. The elevator was ahead of them, but the light was lit – it was in use? 

Who was using the elevator?? 

Malik??? 

This was just getting worse and  _worse._  

Kadar realized the lift wasn’t an option and darted to his left, back into the endless rows of office cubicles. Altair swore under his breath. 

“Kadar! Just stop!” 

He kept running. Trying to lose the assassin in the maze he kept ducked, bent so he was hidden behind the walls and Altair watched, trying to see where he would emerge for a brief second. Enough to get him to stop.  

 _There._  

The thud of Kadar hitting the ground wasn’t as loud as his cry of pain, nor as heartbreaking to hear. The gun itself let out barely a whisper – thank fucking God for silencers. If only they worked on people too.  

It was easy to navigate the maze with Kadars whimpers guiding him, though muffled as he tried to keep them quiet – but being shot in the leg is a painful enough experience by itself, and this would have been the first time he’d ever been shot. 

 _He’s probably terrified._ _In sh_ _ock_ _._  

Altair swallowed his resolve. 

The blood was soaking into the carpet beneath him, leaving an ugly stain, running through and staining Kadars fingers red as he pressed his palms against the wound to try and stop the bleeding. His breathing was erratic, coloured with dry sobs and whines of pain, and he reminded Altair of a wounded deer. A deer and he was the hunter. 

“I told you to stop running.” Cold and sharp and short. Kadar looked up at the words, face pale – shock or blood loss? Fear? All three – with his lower lip trembling but admirably his eyes still refusing to let tears run.  

He looked  _so much_  like Malik. 

“P-please – I’ll Give you whatever you want –“ 

Altair sighed, cut the rest of his beg off, raised the gun again to kadars eye level. “if you would just  _listen_  to me-“ 

It was Altairs turn to be cut off; but this time it was with a heavy  _thunk_  as a briefcase – filled to the brim with files, pens, a water bottle and exactly seventeen after dinner mints – slammed into the side of his skull with all the force of someone furiously protecting their little brother. 

 

He was  _alive_. 

“Kadar Holy – Oh fuck, Kadar, we gotta – I gotta – are you okay?” His words came out fumbled and mixed together in his panic, immensely relieved his brother was still alive – shot, but alive – and trying to resist the urge to kneel down beside him and hug him. Instead he dropped the briefcase and aimed his gun towards Altair, who was lying motionless face down on the floor. 

“Do I fucking look okay Malik? I’ve been fucking shot!” The scared puppy act was gone and it was replaced by a cocktail of genuine fear and fury, making Malik laugh, a choked and relieved and borderline insane laugh. Kadar was back. 

“I missed you too, little brother.” 

“fuck you – wait, where did you get a gun? How did you know where to find me – what the fuck is going on? Malik i-“ 

He was going to interrupt his inevitably endless streams of questions but a muffled groan rising from Altair cut them both off, and Malik watched as he rolled onto his back, a hand going to press against the side of his ear where blood was beginning to Mat in his hair. 

 _Whoops._  

“Malik....Malik what the – what the fuck...?” 

Something snapped; Altair lying on the ground with blood trickling from his head after just trying to kill his brother, groaning, Kadar on the floor with a bullet in his leg, himself holding and aiming a gun towards a man he thought had loved him – it was too much. 

It was  _too much._  

“What the fuck me? You’re asking  _me_ what the fuck? Are you serious?” Malik exploded, honestly surprised the gun didn’t go off as every single muscle in his body tensed, the two on the floor giving a start in surprise at his sudden screech. “fuck you, Altair! You knew the whole fucking time you were going to kill my brother and you didn’t even – I don’t even know where to  _begin_ I just – was it all a ploy? Some dirty fucking trick to make it easier to kill him and get away with it? Or was it all just a coincidence that you went along with because you thought it would be funny, you sadistic  _freak_?” His voice and hands were shaking, and even Altair looked a little terrified at his outburst. “I can’t believe I ever I 

 trusted you! You’re a hypocrite, a  _fucking_ hypocrite, saying all those things you said to me, how you felt how you, how you – you never even cared, did you? You left me to die in that  _fucking_ car and you never even cared about me enough to tell me – you  _lied_.” 

Maliks rage grew quieter, still smouldering but no longer roaring, with all of his anger burnt away the rest of his emotions were showing and he tried to hold them back. “You  _lied_  to me. You  _used_  me. You took advantage of my feelings and you....I ought to shoot you in the fucking face.” 

There was a moment of silence between them. A clock ticked over and a quiet beep of an alarm went off before dying. 

“So do it.” 

It wasn’t the reaction he was expecting and it shocked him into silence, Altair moving his bloody hands away from his head to sit upwards and look him directly in the eyes. 

“fucking do it, Malik. Shoot me. I deserve it. For everything I did, every second I lied to you and hid Kadars involvement...I deserve it. But I promise you I didn’t-“ 

Malik pulled the trigger. 

 

Two weeks. 

Two weeks was all it took for his brother to learn how to shoot people, for him to fall in love with an assassin – who, not to mention, tried to kill him -, all it took for him to...well, become a badass. 

Because his brother was now totally  _fucking awesome._  

“I can’t believe you actually shot me!” The assassin – Altair ? Was it? – yelled, pressing a hand against the fresh bullet wound in his shoulder, face red in anger and pain . 

“You told me to! You literally just told me to shoot you!” Malik protested, dropping the gun like it was a hot tray. “How can you blame me for this?” 

“I didn’t think you’d  _actually_ do it! What the fuck!”  

Did the realize he was bleeding too? And wasn’t stopping? 

“Um, guys-“ 

“you’ve already seen me shoot and kill Rauf! What made you think I wouldn’t shoot you? Especially since you were  _literally_  about to kill my brother!” 

“I was never going to – does not  _fucking listening_ to me run in the Al-sayf family or something? Oh my God! I was never going to kill him!” 

“guys, I’m kind of still bleeding –“ 

They both ignored him, continuing to bicker. “Oh, yeah, because I totally believe that. The fact that you shot him in the leg, that I stopped you from shooting him in the face, that you literally  _crashed a car_ to stop me from finding out he was your last target doesn’t mean anything at all!” 

Altair sighed, heated and frustrated, pressing his lips together and glaring at Malik. “listen to me. Shut up, and listen to me, for just five, ten minutes. Please.” 

“No its fine, I’m okay just bleeding out over here-“ 

They both shot him heated looks, making him snap his mouth shut. Altair dug into his pockets and threw him a bundled up roll of bandages.  

Well, at least he wouldn’t die.  

Altair took Maliks silence as permission to continue, shifting in his position to keep pressure on the gunshot wound. “I only shot Kadar because he wouldn’t stop running, Malik. I couldn’t...at the beginning, when I knew, and we werent...I was just going to kill him and then leave. But things changed.” 

Maliks gaze softened, but his hands remained clenched and shaking. Kadar was too busy wrapping his leg in the bandages to pay attention. 

“I never wanted to hurt you, please,  _please_  believe me when i say that.” Altairs words were pained and genuine. “ When we got together you have no idea how  _hard_  it was to keep it a secret from you – but I knew, i knew if I told you, that you wouldn’t understand, that you’d hate me forever or turn me in or...worse. so I waited. I waited to see if we both survived to the end of the list, to see if our already shaky relationship lasted that week, to see if...if maybe it would end with me not needing to kill him.” 

A hurt noise from Malik. “Our relationship isn’t shaky.” 

“You just shot me and i drove a car into a mountainside because I panicked at you reading my diary, Malik.” A sharp retort. 

“I think you guys need marriage counseling.” Kadar thrust his two cents in there, quickly hushed with angry glares and Malik flipping him off. 

With a groan, Altair stood, stumbling and shaky and nearly falling back down, Malik reaching forward to help him but pulling himself back.  Hesitant. Hurt. Scared.  

“Malik, I came here...I came here to get Kadar and take him home. I came here to take him back to your apartment so you two could pack your things and leave and get the fuck out of this city.” He leant against one of the offices walls, hands slick with his blood. “I booked you plane tickets. Both of you. If you disappear, if Kadar disappears, if....my company will be happy. I can – we can leave. Together. Noone dies. Everyone happy. All dandy.” 

Kadar had never seen such blatant shock and anger on Maliks face before. Anger, yes, too often if he was fair, but shock – he hardly ever let such a vulnerable emotion show so clearly. 

“Then why didn’t you tell me? Why did you hide your plans?” 

Altair shook his head, sighed, drying his sticky red hands on his shirt and pressing them again to his hair. “I didn’t know what I was going to do until hours ago. I couldn’t decide. I had to think about my job, about if they sent people after you, how I would hide Kadar if I could or if – even if I wanted, even if you cared enough about me to come back home with me. To leave everything you’ve ever known behind for me.” 

“I  _wanted_ to come with you, Altair. I was the one who asked to come and you shot me down.” Both of their guns lay forgotten on the ground between them, a battle of hearts now instead of one of violence.  

( while Kadar was caught in the middle just watching, confused but at this point just grateful to be alive ) 

“I didn’t – Malik, I didn’t know if I...if I wanted you there.” Altair retracted slightly, knowing how hurtful his words were. “it’s just, my work life, back home, all of it is so different, I don’t know if...I didn’t know if I wanted to expose you to that. Forget the dangers of my company finding out you both are alive and sending people after us; i was more scared of taking you there because i dont know If you’d still like me even...even after seeing what my life is actually like. My friends. My normal life. Maybe you wouldn’t like it. And...and maybe you’d leave me.” His words rose slightly near the end, trembled and shook both from his increasingly worse concussion and from the sudden outpour of emotion , repeating the words fumbled to desperately try and get his meaning across. “i don’t want you to leave me.” 

The last statement was spoken so quietly and with such delicacy it rested in the air, on their minds before being shattered by Altair shuddering and clenching his fists. He lurched forward slightly, now resting all his weight on one leg and Malik gave way into touching him; holding his arms and making sure he didn’t collapse onto the ground. 

“Why? Why did you change your mind ? Tell me why you risked  _everything_ for me – Altair  _please._ _”_ Malik spoke almost desperately now, pressed for time, trying to get Altair to lift his head and gaze from the floor and succeeding  - if only for Altair to rest it on the office wall. He was struggling. Struggling, but still managing to choke his next words out. 

“I changed my mind because I love you, Malik.” 

 

He had never been told he was loved before. 

Oh, sure, his parents told him, and he heard it from his brother once in a blue moon – and of course, there had been lovers that had said it – be it required damp-pillowtalk after years together or muttered so casually it felt obtrusive to protest against it – but this was the first,  _real_ time that the words  _‘I love you’_ were uttered in such a soft, tired, and honest way that Malik truly believed him. The man who had said the words stood front of him, looking exhausted and bleeding from too many places, but even through his pain and through his heartbreak he had a soft smile creeping at the edge of his lips and his eyes were the most beautiful things Malik had ever seen.  

“No, you don’t.” He said the words before he even comprehended them. “We’ve only known each other for two weeks. You can’t love someone within two weeks.” 

Surprisingly, miraculously, Altairs smile simply grew wider. “Yeah. Maybe it’s the concussion, or the fact that I’m bleeding heavily from three different places, but – I love you, Malik. I love the way you talk. The way that when you sleep, if anything touches your feet you kick out in any direction to protect yourself. I love how when you laugh you hide your mouth behind your hands even though your smile is something I never want to stop seeing; I want to wake up to that smile every day for the rest of my life.” Incredibly sappy words , drawled, not romantically but the drawl of a heavily injured and not entirely lucid man. 

“I think you’re concussed, and You’re losing blood, and you’re delirious.” He choked the words out as excuses to ignore the lump of unwanted emotion rising in his throat. 

“And I’m in love.” 

“You-“ 

He flinched at a pencil suddenly hitting him in the side, making him turn and glare at a suddenly standing Kadar.  “Hey, uh, hate to break up such a sweet confession scene, but do you think maybe you want to get him to a hospital before he dies? Or me. Preferably me. I don’t really care for someone who shot me.” 

“I was saving your ass, dick.” Altairs words were beginning to slur but he was still awake and sharp enough to respond with wit.  

Kadar was right. There were too many problems with hosptials, though...but was he supposed to do? He couldn’t have Altair hurt like this. He needed medical help. He was starting to have real trouble keeping awake and kept wincing, his fingers losing colour quickly. Malik was trying not to panic, but hospital’s were the worst idea swimming in a pool of horrible plans. 

“Oh, yeah, let’s just walk an assassin with a bullet wound, a concussion –“ 

“I tore my calf open in the car accident and the homemade stitches have come loose too.” Altair butted in. Malik sighed. 

“...Let’s waltz him into a hospital that I literally snuck out of an hour ago with no explanation, yes, good idea Kadar.” 

Kadar rolled his eyes, folding his arms and leaning on the leg that wasn’t bleeding. “You have a better idea, smart guy?” 

“ _An_ _y_  idea is better than that idea, Kadar.” Channelling his fear for Altair and current absolute mess of a mental state into sarcastic and snarky retorts.  

“You’re dating a serial killer, don’t you talk to me about good ideas.” 

“Not a serial killer.” A quiet murmur from a near-unconscious Altair.  

Their arguing would have continued to go back and forth between them if they hadn’t been interrupted by an almost unheard  _ding_ as the elevator doors opened onto their floor. 

 _What the fuck?_  

The trio looked at each other, to the hallway in unison, muscles tense and ready to for action. Who could it be? One of Kadars co-worker’s getting in some early filing? A janitor? Did Altairs company send someone to take care of the job in case Altair didn’t finish – they’d already sent Rauf, he wouldn’t put it past them to send another.  

Quiet, hushed voices filtered towards them, words too quiet to be heard but there was unmistakably a conversation heading towards them. More than one of them? Was it the building's security?  

Oh, they were so  _fucked_  if it was security. 

The voices we’re closer, louder now, and Malik sidled closer to Altair resting a hand on his lower back to try and support him. Altair passed a hand over his shoulders, holding to him tightly, protectively, and snippets of the conversation wormed their way towards them with the footsteps. 

“What if we’re too late?” 

“We can’t be too late. There’d be a lot more screaming if there was. And blood.” 

They....they sounded familiar.  

“but what if! We don’t know how this situation is going to or has gone down! What if they both shot each other?” 

There’s no possible way- 

“You know Malik more than anyone, Leonardo. You really think he has the guts to shoot Altair after everything they’ve been through?” 

“I don’t know Ezio! He can get really angry and do crazy things sometimes! And this is Kadar we’re talking about – he’d do anything to protect him!” 

This has to be a joke. Some sort of sick, twisted, unfair joke. 

The pair rounded the corner and spotted their mess, Leonardo taking a second to gain his composure with wide eyes and a mouth that had dropped open in shock before rushing over. “Malik! I’m so glad you’re all okay,  _dio_ _mio_ _,_ I was so worried when Altair called and told me about his plans, I knew you’d find your way here and try to – you’re bleeding ? You’re all bleeding ! Who’s hurt more? How did this –“ 

Why did  _Ezio_  have to be here? “I’m fine, Leonardo – but Altair, he’s concussed, and his leg –“ 

“He also shot me.”  

“...I also shot him. In the shoulder.” Leonardo looked as white as a sheet and Ezio was trying to stifle his laughter.  

“Um, I also got shot. Like, ten minutes ago. Since you guys have forgotten about me.” kadar waved a hello to Leo and gestured vaguely to his leg. Ezio couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst into laughter. 

“Ezio! This is serious!” Leonardo angrily slapped his chest, making him Drop the grin.  

“I’m sorry, mi amore _,_  but you have to admit it’s actually quite funny such a serious situation ended like...well, it’s all rather underwhelming really.” 

“I’d rather be underwhelmed than one of them dead!” Leonardo focused his attention to kadar since Malik held up Altair, who was beginning to sway and lean more and more against him.  

“I suppose. I’m still surprised Altair isn’t dead – Malik, this is uncharacteristic of you!” 

He returned the jive with a glare and they fell into silence, finally hauling into the elevator and Leonardo pressing the button for the basement. Altair had succumbed to his concussion and was now slumped on him, his face pressed to Malik's neck and weight heavy around his shoulders. 

Smooth jazz colored their descent. 

 

 

When Altair slept, he had a certain quirk where he  _always_  had to have one hand above the covers. It didn’t matter which, it didn’t matter if he had no blankets to sleep with anyway, he simply  _could not_ sleep without a hand facing freely. 

It meant Malik could entertain himself while waiting for him to wake up.  

Leonardo and Ezio were out, buying more bandages and picking up Chinese for dinner. Kadar was sleeping off his injury – Malik wasn’t quite sure how he planned to sleep off a bullet wound, but he was adamant to try – and himself, being the only uninjured one, had dragged one of Leonardo paint – splattered and frayed armchairs into his spare room where Altair was, and sat beside the sleeping assassin now, playing with his fingers and trying to see if there was any possible way to get both hands beneath the covers. 

It was just past six that evening, and from his angle in the room Malik could see the sun set through the silhouettes of the tall, multicolored apartment buildings, brandishing the sky a hot and passionate red, giving the whole room a sand dune tint to it. He pushed Altairs hand down and his left rose out of ten bed, too far for him to reach but the instant response made him snort. He couldn’t understand it. What was so bad about sleeping with both beneath? 

Push the right hand up – left-hand goes down. Right-hand goes down – left hand comes up. 

He was like a puppet. 

Eventually Malik got bored, instead linked the airing hand with his own fingers, leaning to get more comfortable and pressing the knuckles to his lips. 

He wanted him to wake up. They’d missed the flights, obviously – Kadar had called into his office,  said he had an injury at work and the trial was now on break, so hopefully Altairs superiors would be sated for now – but it was a small price to pay for medical secrecy and all of them getting some well-deserved rest. 

His boss had called too. Malik was excited to tell Altair he’d quit his job. That he was going to finally make something of himself – make something that wasn’t a disappointment, that is.  

He wanted him to wake up because he had to much to tell him, so much to  _ask_ – and so much to yell at him for – and so much to...to see. To see his eyes again would be all he wanted. To hear his name and to see his lips moving to form it. To hear Altair say he loved him again. 

But Malik had waited two weeks. He could wait a few more hours. 

So instead he leant forward and pressed a kiss to Altairs bandaged forehead, stroking his knuckles softly as a five-minute slow clock ticked by, and the light from a dying horizon made them both hued in soft oranges and reds and slowly fading-in purples. A hushed, unheard murmur in a quiet moment. 

“I love you, too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. thats the end.
> 
> Is it me or does it feel very underwhelming? It could just be me. it could be because im uploading this at 1am. It could be because im incredibly sad this journey is over.  
> Theres still a prologue to do - which i promise to get done ASAP!!!!! -but congratulations! youve finished this rollercoaster of a fic and i cant thank or love you enough for doing so. This fic has always been my baby and im so proud to finally see its grown up, has a house, and pays taxes now.  
> Thank you all so much for the support! All of your comments and kudos mean so much to me - like, nearly 200 kudos????? GUYS - and you all kept me going even when i wanted to quit this.  
> This is probably my final fanfic, but hey - who knows, right? Im planning stuff on wattpad, maybe youll see me there, or maybe ill write something new for Altmal. The future is bright but hazy.  
> Again - i love you all from the bottom of my heart - and i cannot thank you enough for all being here for this. Its been amazing.
> 
> ( and dont forget - theres still one more chapter coming!!!!! )


	15. Tying up loose ends.

“I don’t really see the point in all this, Malik.”

“it’s a surprise.”

“Well, evidently – but what’s with the hands over my eyes?”

“So the surprise remains a surprise.”

Altair snorted, hands outstretched in front of him as he attempted to feel his way through wherever Malik was leading him. Not that there was much to feel, given the fact they were walking through a practically empty carpark.

“I hear a highway. Are we – Wait, is it a naughty surprise?”

He couldn’t stop the burst of laughter then, his fingers nearly slipping from their protective place over Altairs eyes. “Really? I’m leading you somewhere by a highway and you expect me to surprise you with...What? Me being naked?”

“Don’t burst my bubble of hope, Malik.”

“What if it wasn’t me naked, but someone else?”

A slight pause.

“Please, dear god don’t tell me Ezio is naked in front of me.”

They both laughed then, loud and clear and pure. He was right, Malik believed anything was better than seeing Ezio naked.

(To everyone but Leonardo, it seemed.)

It’d been almost a year since their brief two week affair and a few days off nine months of living together, and while Malik was still adjusting to living in the new city, new country, new flat – it was all, rather surprisingly, working out.

Pedro had managed to apply for a transfer and secured a job here fairly easily. Malik had quit on the spot; it was incredibly satisfying walking in there and telling his asshole of a boss to go fuck himself. That’d teach him for not paying overtime. Instead now he’d gone back to university – at Altairs increased encouragement – to further study Cartography, and was quite happily spending his days between his schoolwork, managing their oddball finances, and handling an increasingly chaotic social and romantic life. Altair did offer to take him on some of his missions, but he’s declined every time: he’d had enough excitement for more than one lifetime.

Leonardo and Ezio had also, surprisingly, decided to join them, Leonardo claiming a want for change in scenery and Ezio simply following like a lost little puppy. Malik didn’t mind. It was good to have old friends in new places.

Their new flat was small, single bedroomed for the two of them, and just the two of them. Altair had, of course, complained about the lack of space for a trampoline, but with Malik promising to more than make up for it the thought was soon perished from his mind.

From Altairs mind, at least.

Malik was happy to have it sorted away for today.

“Alright, one more step and – here we go. Happy birthday, novice.” A teasing reminder of the nickname Altair used to call him, shifting his hands from over Altairs fingers to wrapped around his waist from behind, kissing the back of his jawline with a smug grin.

Altair was stunned into silence – for a scond longer than usual, anyway.

“Wha- this, is this place what I think it is? Malik is this-?”

“One of those indoor trampoline parks? That I’ve booked for three hours? And brought booze for? And invited Ezio and Leonardo and all of our other friends for?” His shit-eating grin grew wider. “Yes. I know we can’t exactly fit a trampoline in our flat, but...this will have to do for now.”

His lovers mouth was open but no words made their way out, just croaking, spluttering, unintelligible sounds, Malik hiding his snort with a quick press of his lips to his cheek. It was definitely worth the 200$ deposit, just for this.

“Malik, I...I can’t...when can we go in?” His tone moved from deep gratitude to childish wonder within the same breath and Altair didn’t even wait for an answer, thrusting himself out of Maliks arms but grabbing his hand instead to pull him eagerly towards the waiting doors. “Now? Let’s go now.”

He laughed as he was tugged along, stumbling after him surprised at his vigor. ”I feel like I’m actually dating a Child!”

“Paedophile!” was his retort.

They pushed through the clear doors into a near-empty reception, a young girl with badly blonde-streaked hair behind the front desk chewing her gum and examining her nails. She barley dignified them with a glance up.

“Booking for Al-sayf?” Malik pulled out a receipt but she waved them through, grey steel eyes examining them both but hovering mostly over Altair. He couldn’t blame her.

“Go through. Your friends haven’t arrived yet, but the park is open, so go nuts.” She spoke in a bored tone, resuming back to her gum-chewing and nailwork.  
At least they could count on not being bothered.

Making their way through the spacious, spongy blue carpeted hallways, they reached the netted entrance into the indoor park. Cubbies lined their right side to keep shoes and bag and wallets safe and benches shining from being recently disinfected rested in the middle. The park itself, seen through wide black netting, was immense; bright yellow and blue padding that surrounded the trampolines formed squares of varying sizes to make the floor, the lining walls all one, singular trampoline, and a large octagon shaped foam pit brimming with foam blocks taking centerpiece. Ledges made trampoline cliffs to jump from into trampoline seas, dodgeballs were scattered in ransom spots all around, and a single, lonely, basketball hoop was screwed at the very end to the only wall that wasn’t encased in padding or whatever the material was that trampolines were made of.

Kadar was going to have a fit.

“Malik, where do I put my gun?”

“You – your what?” Malik was torn from his childlike wonder at the casual but jarring question, looking over to Altair who was examining his Glock With a puzzled expression.

“My gun. Where do I put it? I don’t want to put it in the cubby.”

Malik sputtered. “Why did you – Why did you bring a gun?? To your birthday party?”

Altair shrugged and flicked a little lever on the side, sliding it into his pants. “I didn’t know what you had planned. Come prepared, right ?”

“What could I have ever planned for your birthday that would require you to need a gun?”

He slipped off his shoes. “Paintball?”

A scream built up in his throat and he pushed it down. He honestly shouldn’t be surprised.

“Are you coming?” Altair had unzipped the entrance and was waiting now on the soft padding in between hard floor and trampoline, white socks slipping on the surface and fingers digging into the netting to keep stable.

“Going into a trampoline park with you? As well as a live gun? I think I’ll wait for Leonardo.” Malik folded his arms and arched a daring brow, smile long gone and replaced with his default look of boredom and faint disgust.

“Oh come on Malik, please? Just for five minutes?” Altair glanced at his watch then looked back up with puppy eyes. “Leonardo won’t be here for like another half an hour or so, You can’t sit there by yourself for half an hour.”

“Yes, I can. Watch me.”

“Malik!”

“Altair!” He mocked Altairs persistence, stepping forward to poke at his chest for added insult. “I’m not coming in.”

Then he saw it. That Glimmer of mischief deep in those golden honey eyes, the curve in the corner of his mouth, how his fingers darted to grab Maliks shirt now he was within arms reach.

“Alt-" the warning was too little, too late, and he was jerked forward as Altair pulled both of them backwards, aiming for the part of the floor that wasn’t padded behind them. They hit the ground and bounced, Malik leftward and Altair straight upwards, laughing hard and loud as Malik attempted to cuss him out, finally coming to a shaky stop a good few feet away with his face pressed to the surface of the tramp beneath him. “You asshole!”

Altair sat upwards, still laughing. “try and tell me this isn’t fun!”

“This isn’t fun!”

It only made him laugh harder.

Malik stood on shaky legs, looking around for his exit with palms splayed out at either side of him to keep balance. Okay. It was just four squares away. That wasn’t too far. 

He stepped forward and, with how slick his socks were on the surface beneath him, slipped and fell on his face again.

Cackles. 

...Okay, let’s try this again.

He stood, glaring daggers to Altair who was watching with face-splitting grin, standing infuriatingly perfect. “You can’t walk! You have to bounce!” he shouted, gesturing to the path he’d have to take to exit this hellhole.

The only response he got was a brandished middle finger. 

A step. A slip – at least he didn’t land on his face this time, but now his arms ached and his face burned with shame. He would not be defeated by a children’s playground! He wouldn’t!

“I fucking hate you, Altair.”

A kiss was blown his way. “I love you too, babe. Now bounce.” 

He watched from the cool floor as Altair leapt from square to square, showing off with a flip, eventually making his way over to Malik just as he managed to stand, offering a hand. Malik batted it away.

“I can do it.”

“You evidently can’t.” He said with a smirk.

If looks could kill.

He felt his legs buckle beneath him and instinctively shot out his hand to Altairs still offered, clinging to it tightly. His shit-eating grin grew wider and Maliks frown carved deeper. “I actually fucking hate you.”

Altair was about to speak when the clunk of doors closing echoed around them, making them both look towards the entrance. Leonardo, thank God – 

It wasn’t Leonardo.

“...Friends of yours, Malik?” Altair spoke in a low tone, good-natured vibe gone, unconsciously pulling him slightly closer. Three men and two men had entered, dressed in dark tones, blank faces. They reminded Malik of the politicians back home with bodies and expressions cut from stone, skin colour grey and fractured. He answered with a silent shake of his head and his grip on Altairs hand tightened.

These guys were bad news.

“Hey, fellas, we’ve booked the place for three hours, so if you’re looking for some down time you’ll probably have to come back tomorrow.” Altair raised his voice so the foreigners could hear, not getting a response aside from half-smirks and shadowed glances. The largest of them all – wide, dressed in a simple white shirt and black dress pants, a long rippling scar blinding his left eye almost like some bond villain – and seemingly the leader gestured, his lackeys nodding, stepping inside the netting and inside the grounds. They held their hands behind their backs like funeral predecessors, badges all resting on their right lapels shining but too far away to be seen clearly.

Their motives were clear, however, when the leader pulled a gun from his pocket and pointed it at Altairs head.

“Robert sends his regards, _assassin_.”

In The time it took him to say the line and pull the trigger they were both already gone; Altair pushing right and Malik left, though with less grace and surety in his footwork than his lover. In fact Malik more...tumbled, to his left, as he was pushed away and felt the bullet whizz between them, while Altair leapt like a royal deer from square to square – Or, a deer with a gun, because that was out the second he’d made sure Malik was okay.

Okay as in not-shot okay. Apparently still bouncing uncontrollably between squares and the walls was fine.

“See? I told you bringing a gun was a good idea!”

“ _Altair_!”

Gunshots echoed around the room from both sides, the ringleaders minions now bouncing after them and if it wasn’t such a serious situation he found have found it almost comical. Two men and women with guns trying to shoot at them, with Altair trying to shoot back, all while bouncing around the room on trampolines surrounded by brightly coloured padding and paintings of cheerful animals decorating concrete walls.

It was jarringly, _hilariously_ , terrifying.

He’d been too busy watching them all fight it out to notice how he was still out of control, but noticing very suddenly when he realized his current path was heading right towards one of the men who was too busy trying to aim mid-air to notice where he was going.

Oh no.

No please. 

It was too late for a warning and their skulls and bodies collided with a thick thud, stars splintering in his vision, their momentum cancelling each other out as they fell flat to the floor with Malik on top. He could already feel the headache crawling at the back of his neck. Was he bleeding?

“The gun! Malik, the gun!”

 _Oh, fuck off...can’t I have just one normal day_?

He groaned, pushing himself away from the man , hands feeling around for the gun as his fuzzy vision slowly cleared. The man he had crashed into was unconscious and bleeding from his right temple, that was a blessing at least.

A gunshot flew by his head and he flinched downwards. Finally feeling the cold metal touch in his hands he fired back randomly, hoping he hit someone that wasn’t Altair, and pushed himself To A shaky stand.

Nothing had really changed in the short moment he’d been down, except the shooters were one down and another bleeding. Altair was...being Altair and laughing while he was shooting.

“This is the weirdest fucking thing I’ve done yet!”

 _And that’s saying something_.

Another shot rung past him and he jerked to the side, still unused to the whole being-shot-at part of Altairs life. Obviously it wasn’t exactly a day to day experience - Well, not anymore – and though Altair had tried to give him proper gun training, Malik believed firmly by now that guns were simply not his fortè.

Not that these guys were going to listen to that, anyway.

“Fucking bounce Malik!”

 _Asshole_.

But an asshole with a point, as the next thing he saw looking in their direction was a one of the girls pointing their gun straight at his head.

He threw himself into the next square, narrowly avoiding the shot, stumbling as his socks slipped on the surface of the trampoline but, remarkably, still standing. Huh.

His own shots joined the chorus of the others as Malik joined the...fun, hopping from one square to another to avoid the shots, trying to hit the others who were doing the exact same. Altair was the main target and was a actually surprising Malik with his agility; flips and rolls, using his long and gangly legs to leap to other squares faster than his murderers, surprise angles or turns. How the hell was he so good at this? 

A cry echoed out and another one of the strangers went down, tumbling through the air and body swallowed by the large rainbow foam blocks that filled the centre pit. The bleeding one was beginning to slow, pain in her leg evident, but she still pursued. Only her and another man left, the leader, a walking juxtaposition as this hard-faced tough-knuckled and scarred man bounced after them like a demented kangaroo. Altair could take care of the girl: it was the leader that needed To go down.

He shifted his change in direction, trying to follow them without drawing any attention to himself in order to get a clear shot. Which was, obviously, very had to do and he failed practically immediately, the first shot (missed) echoing a big warning sign to the man he was chasing. Scarface turned, his alreadyl ugly face twisting horrifyingly into a scowl that sent a shiver straight down Maliks spine, and the hunt switched. 

Malik swore audibly.

He turned and threw himself away, firing his gun randomly backwards – Altair and the girl were far away, no longer chasing but struggling on The ground together as both tried to reach for her dropped weapon, at no risk of catching stray bullets – as he tried to avoid injury, heartbeat impossibly rising in his chest in terror. His breathing echoed in his ears and he was painfully aware of his slowing pace, the burning in his legs, the increased moments where he would stumble and near lose his balance. A shot caught his jacket shoulder and tore the fabric but luckily didn’t hit him, making him swear again.

This was his favourite fucking jacket!

Seconds. He had seconds before the man was close enough to hit him or could tackle him himself. Running and shooting blindly wasn’t working, but he couldn’t leave Altair to fend for himself. What could he do ? What could he Do?

Malik drew , from somewhere deep and hidden in the folds of his fragmented memory, and incredibly cheesy quote coupled with a snippet of a plan. A blessing and a curse, really – but it Was true, because those snippets of a plan coalesced into an idea that was crazy enough that it might just work.

God. He cringed inwardly just saying it in his head. If that was going to be the last thing he thought before he died, he _deserved_ to go to Hell.

One more bound, then Malik turned on his heel quickly to face his hunter. The surprise was immediate but he had no time to relish it as he, with all the strength he could, pushed himself forward and straight into the body of the man. All the breath was knocked from his body. Stars were the only thing he saw as his vision went pitch back for a second and a high-pitched whine filled his ears, feeling his coughs wrack his body but not hearing them, feeling the fabric of the man’s shirt beneath him but not any movement. 

The gun was still in his hand. He fumbled, vision slowly blinking back, pressing it to the nearest but unrecognizable part of the body beneath him and pulling the trigger twice before it clicked out.

Empty.

His breathing was loud and hard like shifting gravel and it sounded suddenly, pushing himself away from the now still body beneath him that was leaking blood. His two shots had, luckily, entered him right in the chest, and while Malik had no concept of human anatomy, he was pretty sure that in those places, and such close range, the man wouldn’t be getting him.

“Fuck Yeah, Malik!” 

Altairs Cheers were joyful and rang in his ears, shouted amongst laughter and hoots. He had won the battle against the woman who was now lying motionless at his feet, the gun clasped tight in his hands that were raised in a joyous shout. A wide grin split his face, and the rare – but, as time went on and they spent more and more time together in a sort of domesticated happiness, slowly becoming commonplace – warm glow in his eyes that Malik recognized as pride and love.

He loved him.

The phrase always made his toes get tingly and a smile, quickly forced down, creep to his face. It was weird, hearing it. Thinking it. Knowing it. Having certainty, the certainty that he was loved, was a new feeling – not unwelcome, that’s for sure, but it was definitely still being adjusted to. It surprised him sometimes.

Pushing himself to his feet with Altair not moving, examining the gun instead, he decided to make his own way over. The trampoline park was growing on him, anyway. Why not have a little fun?

Altair was about nine squares away. Could he make nine squares without tripping, falling, losing control? He was about to find out.

“See, i told you bouncing was a good idea!” His smug tone held no bite and made Malik laugh breathlessly, now eight squares away.

“Forgive me if I take all of your plans with a grain of salt, Altair. Do we want to revisit the theatre incident?” was his retort. Seven.

“Hey, that was your idea! Leonardos – yours !” Six. Malik laughed again.

“Well, i do admit this time, your suggestion worked.” Five. He began slowing down now.

“When have they ever not, Malik?” Altair looked up from the gun, fiddling with the safety. Post-work jitters: the feeling like you’ve forgotten something, someone, done something wrong. Four squares.

“Several times, Altair. Don’t get me started on my list.” The jitters were getting to him. Something felt...off, out of place. Like this had all ended too well. Too quickly. They’d underestimated something. Three?

“I’d like to hear that list one day. I’d probably be able to cross off over half the things on there.” A lighthearted chuckle from Altair, a half-assed one from Malik. It was wrong. It felt wrong. Two.

He was one square away, snark hanging off his tongue when he saw it, the catalyst, what was ticking off his suspicion meter, confirming that they had overlooked something, too close now to properly sound a warning to Altair.

The stranger he’d crashed into at the very beginning was stumbling to his feet, clutching hid head but coherent enough to be glaring at Altair from behind him, to be intent on his job, to hold the knife that flirted with the light just to the side of his thigh. Altair had death hot on his heels and was seconds away from it.

Too close to warn him.

Too messy to crash into him. 

One option.

Malik reached Altair but instead of stopping he angled his feet in a way he could push off sideways, hands flailing but snagging a very surprised lovers shirt and dragging him away with him just in time to narrowly miss the stab. They both, chaotically, flew through the air like tossed tennis balls, together, Malik trying fumble out words of explanation. 

Altair wasn’t getting it. Altair was confused. Altair let Malik take his gun as they bounced, still clinging to eachother, through the air and let him aim it towards the man who had just tried to stab him.

For the first time in his life, Malik only needed one shot.

Eventually, with a few tuck and rolls ans expert manoeuvres from Altair they came to a slightly shaky stop, the assassins arms wrapped around Maliks waist as he still clung to him and now on top as they caught their breath. It was only seconds before Malik snorted – but the snort was quickly cut off with a press of their lips in a way that could only be described as desperate from Altair.

“Thats for saving my life.” Murmured. Quiet and soft with a smile and a secret glint only Malik knew. His snort returned.

“I think you owe me more than a kiss for that, Altair." 

The smile grew fonder. “If you want explanations, they were probably Templars. Sort of like a competing business for my work. No biggie, really.” Malik arched his brows as if in doubt but he silenced the oncoming accusations with another soft and lingering kiss and a wandering hand. “however, if it’s _more_ you want...”

“Don’t be an ass.” He slapped his chest with a roll of his eyes. “here?”

“We’ve done weirder places. The table worked out fine, evidently, seeing as I’m here.”

“A table can hardly be counted as a weird place, Altair.”

“It can be if that table is in a supermarket Staffroom.”

Their bickering continued until they were interrupted by Leonardo, who entered the room with too much Italian food and seemingly, no appetite after seeing their handiwork. Ezio just laughed. 

The trampoline issue was dropped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, yes,this is the end. The FINAL end. No more after this.  
> Oof, that pains my heart to write.  
> Again, as I've mentioned so many times, I cannot thank you all enough for how much love, kudos,and comments you've given this fic. It truly is my baby and I'm so happy to see I'm not the only one who loves it.  
> Especially a HUGE shout out to Sorsa, DarthTofu and a_prince who commented here, yall three really kept me going all these long months with your comments and I love y'all sm istg ( especially for giving me the trampoline idea !!! )   
> This fic is now avaliable on wattpad as Well! I'll be posting original content on there as I'm probably receeding from fanfic for now, so you can find me as 'Drownedkiwi' and id love to see you there!  
> I love you all so much and I'm going to miss you all so much aaaaaa I'm totally not crying


End file.
